Things Thought Lost
by Reign of Rayne
Summary: Can be found again. The commander of the second division started behaving strangely after an incident that nearly set the Moby Dick aflame, but amnesia was far from the problem. Time travel, no pairings.
1. Chapter 1

_Oh crap. Another story. Maybe I'll get over Ace soon. Or maybe I'll drown myself in half-thought-out fanfics. Yes, the beginning is the same as_ Brotherly Bonds _. I know. Just keep reading._

* * *

Chapter 1 (Prologue, really, but who cares?)

He couldn't hear, couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't think. He could feel, though only in his chest, where an inferno burned and blistered, melting his heart and making him want to scream even though he had no voice to break the terrible silence. There was nothing but darkness and a weight on his entire body and pain and agony and _fire—_

 _"You promised!"_

A broken promise, an empty vow, nothing but worthless words said in ignorance.

 _"Don't kill me off so easily!"_

What did words like that mean now?

 _"Was I a good father?"_

Memories, broken and painful and jagged fragments of a life worth next to nothing in the end but—

 _"Of course you were!"_

He couldn't forget, couldn't let go, couldn't _give up_ so easily even after all he'd been through because—

 _"You promised!"_

Words held meaning after all and even with flames tearing through him he was an older brother and a son before anything else and he couldn't let go of his dreams, his hopes, his _life_ so easily—

 _"Because being alone is much worse than getting hurt!"_

Not when there were still people out there waiting for him, family— _a brother_ —that would be left alone in this world if he left and he couldn't do that, he wasn't that cruel, so even with the fire raging and his body burning and his mind scattering in a hundred thousand different directions he wasn't going to _leave_.

 _"And it'd be bad if I wasn't here?"_

There were things he had to do, people he had to see, places he had to visit and letting his life and here simply wasn't an option, it couldn't be, he wouldn't _let_ it be.

 _"You want me to live?"_

A single frozen moment, a single question left hanging, a single life dangling just out of reach.

 _"Of course I do!"_

He fought, kicked and punched and clawed and bit and screamed in defiance against the dark because he was rage and fire and _light_ and he was going to _live_ even if he had to burn everything to ashes to do it.

 _"No matter where we are or what we do, our bond will not be broken!"_

And the darkness went up in flames.


	2. Chapter 2

_Here's where you realize things are different._

* * *

Chapter 2

 _April 12th, World Year 1522_

Marco didn't know what deity to thank—if there were any deities he could thank—for the fact that Ace was in the middle of practicing flying when he suddenly decided to do his best imitation of a star going supernova. Had the second division commander been any closer to the Moby Dick when Ace—for lack of a better term—exploded, the ship would have been torched. As it were, the entire port side was scorched and the ship and all its above-deck occupants were treated to a heat wave the likes of which they'd never felt before, even in the New World. More than a few pirates went down with blistering skin and sunburn.

Had he not been worried about the safety of his brothers and sisters, Marco would have taken the time to appreciate the size, power, and _beauty_ of the explosion before him. The flames, which had at first been a ball almost too bright to look at, had rushed up, expanded, and begun swirling in a hypnotic display, creating a fiery pillar that touched both the seas and the skies, punching through the clouds. Winds whipped through the air with the sudden influx of heat and Marco had to shield his eyes as the ocean became frenzied and beat against the sturdy woodwork of the Moby Dick, sending the massive ship rocking enough to make even veteran sailors stumble and fall. Marco squinted to see through the light but couldn't, but he could hear a harsh noise grating against his ears, nearly drowned out by the roaring flames. What was it?

Marco kept his balance and ran to the side rail of the ship as the raging column of flames that had been Ace a minute earlier finally subsided, the sudden lack of light forcing Marco to wait while his eyes adjusted. A splash registered with his senses and he was already yelling Namur's name because there was no way in hell he was letting Ace drown after something like _that_.

"On it!" The fishman called, and though he was no doubt just as burnt as the other exposed men and women he dove into the ocean anyway, chasing Ace with practiced ease.

"Marco!" The first division commander turned and saw Thatch running up to him, the other commander's normally impeccable hairstyle looking as though it had seen much better—and cooler—days. "What was that? What happened to Ace? Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Marco responded, keeping his voice and posture calm even as the same questions rolled around in his head as well. Still, the memory of the noise he'd heard from within the raging inferno echoed: screaming.

Ace had been screaming. Why?

The question went unanswered and a minute later Namur surfaced, lugging an unconscious Ace with him as he came back on deck.

"The hell?" Thatch muttered, seeing crimson dripping from the prone body. "Namur, what happened to him? Did a sea king—"

The fishman shook his head, depositing Ace on the deck and expertly checking his breathing before looking helplessly at the wounds covering Ace's chest. "There were no fish in the nearby waters."

"None?" Marco's eyes widened slightly. They had stopped in this location _because_ it was known for its high numbers of fish. Where could they have all gone so suddenly?

"Yes," Namur repeated. "None."

"That doesn't matter," Thatch said, his tone urgent as he called out to the nearest person. "Izo! Where the hell's Tasuka?!"

The commander of the sixteenth division turned, momentarily halting his futile attempts to save his makeup. "Why? What's—Ace!"

"Exactly!" Thatch shouted, only growing more worried with each passing second. There was a _lot_ of crimson staining the deck, and the puddle was only growing. Ace would run out of blood sooner rather than later at this rate.

"Dammit," Izo cursed, giving up all hope on his appearance and sprinting into the ship, calling for the ship's healer all the while. Twenty nerve-wracking seconds later, Tasuka came barreling out of the depths of the Moby Dick, a bag of medical supplies hooked over one shoulder while her brown eyes blazed with—was that _excitement_?—and her braided hair swung wildly back and forth.

"Get away from the subj—patient!" she roared. Well aware of the consequences of getting in the rather sadistic healer's way, the Whitebeard Pirates parted like the sea and prayed to whatever higher power they believed in that Tasuka wouldn't notice their burns as well.

Marco was the only person unfazed by the healer's headlong dash to Ace's side and he gave a quick summary of what had happened, starting from Ace freezing in mid air to Namur pulling him out of the ocean.

For her part, Tasuka listened with half an ear and examined Ace with everything else, poking and prodding the unconscious young man with incredible ease and precision. After a second, she growled, jamming a syringe into Ace's skin next to the gaping wound on his chest. Seeing Marco's questioning look, she snapped out, "anesthetic, in case he somehow becomes conscious, but with this amount of blood loss it'll be a damned miracle he wakes up at all. And something to help slow the bleeding," she added, injecting the contents of another syringe.

"Tasuka! I brought the stretcher!"

"Get it over here!"

Kisha, the head nurse in charge of caring for Whitebeard and all things medical on the Moby Dick, gestured to her nurses and stepped to one side as a stretcher found its way to Ace's side.

"How bad is it?" Kisha asked, kneeling next to her sister and quickly putting her black hair into a practiced ponytail that still reached past her shoulder blades while her glasses flashed with the reflected light of the sun.

"Bad. Marco, what the hell happened?"

"I already said that I don't know. He was perfectly fine and then screaming, if that helps."

"Screaming even while most of his body is a blazing inferno," Kisha muttered, gently easing Ace onto the stretcher. "This is serious. Hannah," she glanced at a nearby nurse, her tone all business, "prep three containers of blood; cabinet C, please. He needs a transfusion immediately. Tracy, alert Gekai. He probably needs to get ready for surgery. Tasuka, stay with him and if he starts to fade, feel free to jam him full of whatever drugs will keep him alive."

Tasuka grinned, thumbing the belt of syringes she always wore. "Certainly, sis."

"Demon," a crewmember mumbled. Luckily for his immediate health, Tasuka didn't hear him.

Thatch leaned over his friend, face lined with worry. "Ace, you're gonna be okay. I don't know what the hell happened to you, and right now I don't really care. Just promise you'll get better, 'kay? I have some pudding with your name on it and I don't think Marco wants even more of the food budget to go to waste."

Marco rolled his eyes, secretly agreeing with every word Thatch said, but stilled when Ace's eyelids twitched. After a second, the boy's eyes opened, revealing a glazed look and dilated pupils. Nevertheless, Ace's eyes found Thatch and latched onto him, and suddenly the young man looked almost frantic as he weakly struggled against the pain no doubt coursing through his body.

"Hold him down so the idiot doesn't injure himself even more!" Kisha ordered, and the nearby nurses hurried to comply. Ace still struggled, and for a minute Marco feared that they would actually be forced to use Kairoseki on the kid because flames were coming dangerously close to the nurses' hands, but Ace suddenly went limp, his eyes rolling for a second before they settled on Thatch once more.

He opened his mouth, and Ace's voice was terribly small and pained and confused when he whispered, "Thatch?"

And then he went under, and the nurses panicked, and that was all Thatch and Marco got to see of their friend before the door of the medical bay was slammed in their faces because they weren't allowed in there during an operation.

Marco turned to his friend and blinked, his expression filled with all the questions he didn't have the time to voice. Thatch reciprocated the look, his usual jovial expression nowhere to be found.

"I don't know what's going on," Thatch admitted, "but I'm going to figure it out. If it turns out that someone hurt Ace—"

"They'll pay," Marco promised, putting a hand on his fellow commander's shoulder before going to find a chair. Or two, since he doubted that Thatch was going to want to leave Ace alone either.

* * *

 _Dunno when I'll update again. Had to get this idea out of my head; there are a lot of Luffy time travel fics but surprisingly few Ace time travel stories. I thought there would be more, but that's just me. For those of you that want to know, this is a few months after Ace is made second division commander._

 _Anyway, there will be OC's. Kind of hard to avoid them; there are 1617 members of Whitebeard's crew including the man himself, and less than 20 of them are named. You see what I'm getting at? Anyway, though it may not seem this way from this chapter, they won't be playing that big of a role. That lies with named characters, especially Marco and Thatch._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm under the impression that you guys like this story. Anyway, I was thinking about songs for Ace that kind of match him (because that's what I do in my free time, apparently) and I came up with a mix of "Again" by Flyleaf and "Fix Me" by 10 Years. Anyone else?_

 _Side note: A friend of mine dared me to read the fanfic "My Immortal" (the repost) and I can't. It's so terrible. I feel like my writing is going to suffer as a result and just . . . kill it with fire. Just kill it. Burn it. Destroy the thing._

 _Back to this story. Enjoy the much longer chapter (and don't expect the next ones to be this long; this one's an outlier)._

* * *

Chapter 3

April 26th, Two Weeks after the Incident

"Marco, this is serious!"

"Thatch, you need to calm down and think about this logically."

Thatch pouted, an expression that looked entirely out of place on his middle-aged features, only to wipe away the expression in favor of the worried look he'd been sporting for the past two weeks. "But he said I shouldn't be alive! The first full sentence he says while conscious and it's _that_!"

"He was barely coherent," Marco pointed out. "He wasn't even focusing on you. I'll admit, I want to think he'll be better soon, but he's hysterical at best, and we have to remember that this is only the second time he's been conscious for any length of time since he exploded."

"Marco. He said I shouldn't be alive. And he wasn't even being threatening or mean; he just—almost like—fact. He was just stating fact."

"I know, Thatch, and it bothers me too. I would give my left arm to know what happened in that inferno, but there's nothing we can do now but wait and hope our little brother recovers."

"He will," Thatch said firmly, glancing back at the door to the sick ward. It was next door to the medical bay and designed to house almost one hundred patients at once. It had been almost full in the few days following The Incident, filled to the brim with pirates sporting serious burns and overexposure damage.

Izo, Vista, and even Whitebeard himself had been heard grumbling about Ace's stunt. Izo's makeup had been ruined and Vista and Whitebeard's mustache wax had gotten all screwed up, much to their eternal displeasure. To them, their mustaches were their pride. To have them damaged was a personal insult.

Marco winced at the thought of the earful Ace was in for when he woke up. He almost pitied the guy. Even Kiel, a normally even-tempered guy that had taken Ace's constant crashing through and breaking of parts of the ship with incredible composure, had been seen glowering at the damage to the port side of the Moby Dick.

"He definitely will," Marco muttered, too quietly for Thatch to hear.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace didn't know where he was. Well, kind of. He knew he was in a large room, some kind of sick bay, and he recognized it from some foggy part of his brain that wasn't demanding to know where Luffy was and whether he was okay or not. It was dark—no lamps burning, no light at all save for what little came from a window behind Ace. The problem came when he tried to remember how the hell he'd gotten there, and for the life of him he couldn't bring anything to mind.

The last thing he remembered was darkness and burning. Everything after that was blank and hidden by a wall that Ace couldn't break no matter how hard he tried. He got the feeling that he didn't want to know exactly what had happened after Akainu punched him, anyway. The dull ache from his entire body was proof enough of that.

Ace slowly struggled into a sitting position, the thin sheets sliding down and revealing his slightly bandaged chest. He let out a slight hiss through his teeth when he realized the extent of his injuries. Well, what he assumed to be their extent; they were mostly healed now, though Ace had several scars he didn't remember having before, the most prominent of which sat on his chest. It was an indistinct shape and Ace gingerly poked it, wincing as phantom flares of pain echoed from the scarred tissue. He could still picture Akainu's fist emerging from his stomach.

Suppressing his gag reflex at the memory, Ace turned his attention back to the room, trying to figure out where he was. For the second time in as many minutes, Ace got the feeling that he should know this room, but he couldn't place it in his scattered memory.

Footsteps came from outside and Ace automatically tensed, calling forth his Devil Fruit powers before realizing that he couldn't. Only now registering the peculiar drain on his energy, Ace glanced down to where he could feel the source and saw a Kairoseki bracelet clamped over one of his wrists. Inwardly, he panicked, seeing that the thing had a damned keyhole and he didn't have a key, but as the door to the room he was in opened he schooled his expression into one of neutrality, not wanting any possible adversary to see weakness.

A woman with brown hair done in an intricate braid and a belt of syringes hanging from her hips entered the room, a clipboard held in one hand. She was humming under her breath, a pen held between her teeth while she dragged a cart of food in with the other hand. Ace watched her approach, his mind gradually making the connection until—

"Tasuka?"

She dropped the clipboard and her gaze shot up to meet Ace's with apparent shock. The pen fell from her mouth but she managed to fumble and catch it, swallowing. "Y—you're awake." Tasuka cleared her throat while she pulled herself together. "Did you . . . hear anything?"

Ace grinned, relieved at the sight of a familiar face (no matter how weird it was; was he on the Moby Dick?). "Other than the fact that you were humming under your breath, no."

She whacked him over the head with her recovered clipboard. "Brat."

"Jerk."

She rolled her eyes, going back to writing as she nudged the food cart closer with her foot. "Well, it's good that I've got extra food today. Don't eat it all at once, though. You'll get sick and the food will go to waste, and _what did I just say_?!"

Ace paused in the middle of reaching for another spoonful of broth, a chunk of bread already in his mouth. "Mmph?"

Tasuka growled something under her breath and jammed the bread farther into Ace's mouth, making the young man flail and choke until he managed to swallow. "What the hell, woman? Are you trying to kill me?!"

"No. But slow down or I'll sedate you. Actually, don't slow down. I got some new sedative recipes at the last island we stopped at and I want to try them out. You're resilient; would make a great test subject."

"Slowing down," Ace said instantly. Tasuka grinned.

"That's what I thought."

The two settled into an easy sense of camaraderie while Ace continued eating. It helped that Ace was one of the few members of the crew that wasn't abjectly terrified of Tasuka's rather sadistic take on medical treatment. And Tasuka in general.

"Hold still," Tasuka said, reaching into a pocket of her pants and pulling out a set of keys. She thumbed through them, quickly selecting one of the many nondescript ones. "Hold out your arm."

"Conflicting orders, Tas."

"Told you not to call me that."

"Still not listening." Despite his words, Ace held out the arm with the Kairoseki bracelet, feeling a rush of relief when Tasuka unlocked and removed the band. "Better."

Tasuka scoffed. "It's just Kairoseki."

Ace scoffed right back. "It's just a needle."

The healer had the decency to take her hand off the syringe she's been inching gradually closer to over the course of the conversation. "Touché. Anyway, now that you're done eating, is it fine if I send the two mother hens in once I finish checking your bandages? I swear, those two are going to get gray hairs soon because of you," she added under her breath.

"How long have they been out there?" Ace asked while trying to guess who was outside. Marco was probably one of the two—he and Ace were close, after all—but Ace couldn't guess the other person.

"Oh, they haven't really moved in—oh, I'm not sure—a week and a half? Two weeks? Maybe?"

"I've been unconscious for _two weeks_?"

"Well, considering that you exploded and then fell into the ocean, that's not that much. I wasn't sure you'd wake up at all."

Ace took no offense at her flippant tone; he could hear the worry buried beneath and took the silent message of _don't you dare do this again you clumsy bastard_ in stride. "Wait, I exploded?"

"Like a supernova," Tasuka confirmed. "Don't move. Changing bandages."

"Got it. Anyway, did anyone—"

"Get hurt? Hun, at least half this room was filled with burn victims."

"Don't call me—oh, shit. Dammit. I'm sorry, I'll—"

"Sorry? Don't worry. Not your fault, if the fact that you apparently did it involuntarily. You just owe me one hundred thousand beri in compensation for my hard work."

" _What_? No way!"

"Fifty thousand."

"No!"

"Twenty."

"I'm not paying you!"

Tasuka sighed, putting the bandages back once she was satisfied with the new ones wrapping around Ace's torso. "Fine. But don't expect any favors in the future."

"Like I ever do."

The healer smirked before tossing her braid over one shoulder and leaving, taking her clipboard, pen, and emptied food cart with her. Ace watched her go before letting out a deep breath and running his hand through his hair, noting absently that it'd been washed while he was unconscious. He didn't want to know who'd been stuck doing that; his hair was a pain. It was part of the reason why Ace let it do whatever the hell it wanted.

The sound of muffled voices came from outside and then the door was thrown open with a loud bang that made Ace wince. Someone strode through the now open door, backlit by the much brighter light in the hallway in comparison to the med bay. Another figure slipped in and closed the door before flicking on the lights, making Ace squint for a second while his eyes adjusted.

"Ace, you're awake! Thank god! We've been waiting for _ever_!"

The voice was familiar. It stirred up old feelings in Ace's chest, despair and anger and betrayal he couldn't find the source of until—

He realized who the first person was.

Ace stared. And stared. And stared. He didn't dare blink; couldn't. If he did, then the image of Thatch alive and well before him would disappear and he didn't think he'd be able to take that another time. He could see Marco staring at him from the doorway but didn't care because Thatch was _right. There._

Was he hallucinating? It would be the first time. Probably wouldn't be the last, either. Where was Tasuka? Did she give him something when he wasn't looking?

Ace felt the hysteria he'd been shoving down bubbling up again and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drive it back again. He was in control.

Deep breath. Breathe.

Just breathe.

He. Was in. Control.

Footsteps.

"Ace?" A hand on his shoulder. Gentle. Warm. Familiar.

 _Thatch_.

"Go away," Ace muttered, drawing into himself and trying to get away from the terrible hallucination in front of him. Focusing on it would only make things worse when he came back to reality. "Just go away."

The hand left his shoulder and Ace felt terribly cold without it but he didn't let it show.

"Ace, you've gotta tell me what's wrong."

The hallucination was speaking again. Ace bit his lip, trying to stop the tears that still rose at the memory of his voice because he and Thatch had been close, dammit, and it hadn't been _right_ for him to die.

"Please."

"Go away," Ace repeated numbly. Usually the hallucinations didn't stick around this long. Maybe he'd finally gone insane. It wouldn't be that much of a surprise, really.

"I'm not going anywhere. Not until we talk; you've been unconscious for two weeks, Ace. Sue me for being a little worried about you."

Ace heard Marco scoff from the background. Apparently (and not to Ace's surprise) he'd been the second one in the room. "A little worried? You haven't left the med bay in the last two weeks, Thatch."

"Pot to kettle, birdbrain."

"Watch it, cook."

"You're just mad because you can't attack me with poor, little, _injured_ Acey over here. And your insults are lame."

"'Acey' wouldn't care if I threw you over the side of the ship," Marco drawled. "He's mostly healed, anyway."

Ace, for his part, was having difficulty breathing. Was he hallucinating Thatch _and_ Marco? That was new. Or—

No, he wasn't—there was no way—he—it wasn't—this—impossible—

"This isn't possible," Ace said, the words out of his mouth before he realized that he didn't want to be speaking them. Instantly, Thatch and Marco looked his way. He could feel their gazes on him but Ace still refused to open his eyes until he was sure that the hallucinations were gone. "It's not possible it's not possible it's not—"

" _Ace_. Open your eyes. What's not possible?" Marco stepped forward, his footsteps all too loud to Ace even in the large room. Ace shook his head, remembering smoke and ash and screams and fire and burning in his chest and a brother that _shouldn't be here—_

"You're not real!" Ace shouted, his whole body tensing as he tried to block out memories of Marineford (and what the hell had happened after the darkness had claimed him, anyway?) because—

Was he dead? Was this the afterlife? No, it couldn't be. There was something deep within Ace's mind, something that told him with complete and resounding certainty that he was alive. Ace latched onto that feeling for all he was worth and focused on dispelling whatever had gripped his mind.

And suddenly there were hands on his shoulders again, a grip strong enough to break Ace out of his thoughts and make him look up and open his eyes out of sheer reflex. He blinked, taking a moment to process that Thatch was _way too close_ and then he yelped, scrambling back on his bed and nearly falling off only to be saved when Marco grabbed his arm and yanked him back up.

"Thanks," Ace said automatically. Then he paused. Marco had just grabbed him. Physically grabbed him.

"Ace," Marco said as he let go and stepped back, his half-lidded eyes boring into Ace's, "I don't know what's going through your head right now, but Thatch and I are real. Flesh-and-blood real. We're not going anywhere."

Slowly, Ace focused on the first division commander. He swallowed, quelling the doubts that still lingered in his mind when that same voice that said he was alive took up the call that he was _aware_. Whatever was going on, Ace concluded, it wasn't just something from his mind.

For some reason, Ace didn't find the fact that he wasn't going insane nearly as comforting as he thought it would.

"You good?" Marco asked. Hesitantly, Ace nodded, slowly getting his bearings.

And now he could smell the sea salt on the air, taste it on his lips. He could feel the gentle rocking of the ship, the cloth of the thin sheets on the thinner mattress rubbing gently against his skin, hear the slap of waves on the hull and the muffled calls of sailors on the deck. It was all so familiar, and so clear. He was on the Moby Dick. He was safe.

"AWESOME!" Thatch declared, standing straight and not seeming to care that his sudden declaration had made Ace yelp and lose all sense of composure.

"What the shit, Thatch?!" Ace growled, only to pause when he realized whom he had addressed. Thatch didn't give him a moment's respite and instead slung an arm around Ace's shoulders, all but dragging him out of bed and practically forcing Ace to stand lest he be led around like a child.

"Just wanted to make sure you weren't about to fall asleep," the older man said. "Narcolepsy can be a terrible thing, after all."

"Shouting at me doesn't help _anything_ , and you know that." Ace paused, blinking. Wait. He was talking to Thatch. _Thatch_.

"Oh, no," the fourth division commander said, flicking Ace's forehead to keep him focused while he steered the younger man towards the door, blowing past Marco. "You're not doing the zoning-out thing again. Can you believe that the last time you were conscious, you couldn't even look at me? It was rude, you know. Terribly offensive. I ate all the pudding I made for you to feel better, just so you know."

"Pudding?" Ace repeated dumbly, his mind unable to handle the sudden stream of information that didn't make any sense to his addled brain.

"Yes, pudding. Good stuff, by the way. Some of my best work. Shame you couldn't have any. And I'm not making more."

There was something buried within Thatch's rambling, something Ace tried to understand as Thatch kept bemoaning his pudding and pulling Ace along. Ace felt as though he should know it, but it wasn't—

Thatch should be dead. The fact stopped Ace in his tracks and Thatch, for all his strength, was forced to stop with him.

"Oh, not this again, Ace—"

"You shouldn't be here."

"In all seriousness, you're right," Thatch admitted. "I should be in the kitchen preparing dinner, because it's April and the men are always hungrier now than they are during the winter and if Jeremy could just keep his damned apron from bursting into flames every other minute like some kind of ten-year-old at a bonfire things would be going _swimmingly_ —"

"Thatch."

The fourth division commander stopped instantly, giving Ace a confused look. Ace winced, feeling bad about interrupting his friend (though it was the only way to stop the man once he started). "Sorry. I just . . . did you say April?"

"Yes, I did," Thatch said slowly, drawing out each word. "What of it?"

"What's the year?"

The chef blinked before suddenly invading Ace's personal space again and wailing something that sounded like, "Oh no!" It was hard to tell with his tone of voice.

"Gah—Thatch! Get off!"

"They said amnesia was unlikely!" Thatch bemoaned, completely ignoring the flat stare he was getting from Marco, who was standing only a few feet away. "Oh, you poor boy! Don't worry, I can teach you everything, starting with how to do the division paperwork that was due yesterday and _Marco stop giving me that look_ , I'll have it done tomorrow!"

"You say that every time," Marco muttered. "Stop trying to mess with Ace. He clearly remembers you."

"April," Ace muttered.

"Oh, and the year's 1522," Thatch said. Then he glanced at Marco. "It's 1522, right?"

"Yeah."

"There you go."

And suddenly Ace had to lean against a wall of the narrow hallway, his eyes unfocused as he struggled to stay standing. He waved away Thatch and Marco's worried looks, muttering, "I'm fine."

In all reality, he wasn't. Marco and Thatch were real, he'd already established that, and they weren't the type to play a prank like this on him, not when they'd been so worried. Ace glanced down, eyeing the new scar tissue on his chest that was vaguely shaped in the form of a magma fist. He brought a hand to it, prodding it gently and wincing. Marineford had happened, then. He wasn't crazy. It hadn't been a dream.

Or a nightmare.

Ace let out a deep, shuddering breath, forcing his muscles to relax. Somehow, he'd gone back in time. That was the only fact his mind could focus on. Hell, that was _Thatch_ standing a few steps away; alive. Breathing. Without a bloody hole in his back.

Breathe. In, out. Slowly.

He had to think. Had to plan. He was getting a second chance, though he didn't know why because he hadn't done anything to deserve it. He could save Thatch—could avoid Marineford, could keep Luffy from doing something goddamned _stupid_ —

"Ace?" It was Marco speaking again. "Are you sure you're okay? Thatch wasn't necessarily supposed to take you out of the med bay. If you want to go back—"

"No, I'm fine," Ace said, standing straight again and offering them a small grin. From their skeptical looks, Ace judged that he didn't pull it off very well, but he could work on that later. "I'm just . . . tired. Yeah. Tired."

"You were unconscious for two straight weeks."

"Unconscious isn't the same as sleeping, Thatch," Ace muttered. Marco rolled his eyes.

"He should know; he spends more time sleeping than doing his paperwork, which, Thatch, is _still_ due yesterday."

"Oh, give it up already," Thatch replied, looking moments away from sticking out his tongue at the first division commander. "You know I'll get it done. Just let me fuss first."

"I'm fine, honest!" Ace protested, stepping away from Thatch. "See?" He stumbled, and Thatch caught him. ". . . Shit."

"Yeah, not fine," Thatch said. "I'll take you to your room, you rest up, and then you get dinner from the chef. Personally. You should be honored."

"Thatch, go make dinner," Marco said, gently easing Ace away from the other man and slinging Ace's arm over his shoulder to give support. Ace muttered that he could handle himself just fine, but didn't make any move to take his arm back.

"But—"

Ace's growling stomach interrupted any argument Thatch could have made. Ace shrugged. "I got two weeks to catch up on."

"Didn't you just eat?" Marco asked curiously. "I saw Tasuka leaving with a food cart when we came in."

"I was hungry. Still am."

"Clearly," Thatch muttered. "Fine, I'll go make dinner. But we're having an invite-only commander party in Ace's room tonight!"

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"If you need anything, just call," Marco said, indicated the baby Den Den Mushi Ace always kept on his desk in case of emergencies. Ace nodded in acknowledgement, waving for Marco to leave.

"Yeah, I got it. Stop worrying so much; I'm not in any danger."

Marco gave Ace a measuring look and then shrugged. "Can't blame me for worrying." He then took his leave, and Ace was left in silence.

This time, however, the silence wasn't suffocating like the one that accompanied the darkness. This one was a silence filled with noise; the sound of a ship, a crew, filled with happiness and family. Ace grinned.

And then frowned, turning his thoughts to the future. He hadn't gotten the actual date, but he knew it was in April. He had two months. Two months until that raid, two months until Blackbeard—

The commander took a deep breath and stood, walking over to his desk and pausing while he waited for the blood rushing to his head to subside. When he could trust his balance and vision again, Ace rifled through the drawers of the desk, eventually finding a notebook and pen. Biting his lip, Ace glanced between the notebook and his bed for a minute, debating whether to nap first or not, before choosing to sit at the desk.

"Here we go," he muttered.

It was time to change history.

* * *

 _A/N Okay, honestly, you people are incredibly supportive. This is only the third chapter I've put up and the other two (well, technically the second) got so many reviews I just - gah! It's awesome! Thank you so much for that._

 _Reviews (I go from earliest to most recent, for those of you wondering what the order is):_

 _Adel Mortescryche: I should clarify the timeline here. Thatch dies at some point in June of 1555, so the future Ace has arrived around two months before that. He's already got a pretty solid relationship with Marco/Thatch, but things_ have _changed for Ace a lot since then. He sees his family in an entirely new (and better) light. As for the Luffy time travel stories, you can just sort the one piece stories by "favorites" or "follows" and the first one should be one of them. Keep looking and you'll find many more._

 _LittleChomper: Yeah, I'm not doing any Mary Sues. Hopefully. Luffy's involvement will be secondary; Ace will be thinking about him,_ _and there will be a meet up at some point (coughAlabastacough), but he won't be a main character._

 _Son of Whitebeard: I'm not entirely sure what you mean by "the old second division commander". If you mean the one before Ace, no. If you mean the Ace that was there before the future Ace came back, no. Basically, no._

 _Check my profile for updates. Though for this story just assume less than two weeks between chapters and go from there. If it takes longer than that I'll have a reason in my profile._

 _Until next time,_

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	4. Chapter 4

_Exam week next week. Joy._

* * *

Chapter 4

Marco sat across from Ace at the impromptu table that Thatch had dragged into Ace's room. Thatch was to Marco's right, digging into his meal happily. Marco ate his at a more sedate pace, while Ace downed anything and everything he could get his hands on. His quickness was almost frightening, and Marco found himself wondering whether Ace was going to be sick from the sudden intake of so much food so soon after waking from what was essentially a coma.

As if Marco's wonderings had cued him, Ace suddenly froze, his face gaining an unhealthy greenish tint. Thatch was handing him a bucket before Ace had even begun choking but the young man waved it away, swallowing with some difficulty and then resuming his voracious eating without any indication that he had stopped at all.

In all that Marco had just seen, he saw no indication that anything other than physical injury had happened to Ace. There was no trace of the strange behavior he had first exhibited, both in his first few bouts of consciousness and in his recent awakening.

Marco doubted that Ace remembered when he was conscious the first few times; judging from the way he was eating and how relaxed he was, he didn't think that Marco or Thatch suspected anything was amiss. Unfortunately, they did. The two commanders had been talking for days now about some of the things Ace said while hysterical or unconscious and were no closer to figuring out what they meant. Ace had mentioned Impel Down several times, as well as the Shichibukai Jinbe and—worryingly enough—some kid named Luffy, who Thatch had remembered was Ace's younger brother.

To say the duo was concerned was an understatement. Thatch had been borderline freaking out and though Marco took everything better, he was still just as worried as his fellow commander. To make matters worse, Ace didn't seem keen on sharing any information. Nevertheless, Marco and Thatch had agreed to try to pry at least a little into what had messed Ace up so easily. They didn't want to see their youngest brother hurt, after all, and wanted him to know that he wasn't alone.

But the prying could wait until Marco finished enjoying Thatch's cooking; the guy had really gone all-out (with the limited amount of time he had available) in celebration of Ace returning to the world of the conscious.

A thump caught Marco's attention and he sighed. Sometimes he forgot that Ace had narcolepsy, and that his bouts of consciousness and unconsciousness were unpredictable at best.

"Don't poke him," Marco admonished, giving Thatch a look. The pompadour'd man lifted his hands in the universal sign of innocence that was entirely offset by the cheeky grin on his face.

"What, like you don't want to? I stopped him from face-planting in his food, at least."

"Thatch, I can see the marker in your hand."

"What marker?"

"Put it down."

"Aw. Spoilsport."

Ace abruptly woke up, blinking and looking around for a second before he kept eating. Marco shot Thatch a look and the other man sighed, rolling his eyes in defeat and pocketing the marker. Marco wasn't fooled, however, and knew that the next time, Ace would find some interesting graffiti on his face if Marco wasn't there to stop Thatch.

"So," Marco began once Ace had exhausted his food supply, "what's wrong, Ace?"

The young man froze, the toothpick he'd picked up at some point still wedged between his teeth. "Eh?"

"Don't give us that," Thatch said, leaning forward. "You told us we weren't real. Kind of hard to ignore, you know? I do like to think that I'm real."

"Same here," Marco added.

Ace began chewing on the toothpick, his gaze casually going anywhere except at Marco or Thatch. Marco knew that Ace was stalling for time, but he didn't push. It was Ace's business, after all, and if there was really a problem they were close enough to have a real talk if need be. Thatch appeared to be the complete opposite; he'd wanted to know everything right away so he could start helping Ace right away. At the same time, Marco could tell that Thatch didn't want to do anything that Ace didn't want to do. The fourth division commander was just as sensitive to Ace's problems as Marco, and both of them knew Ace's parentage.

"It's . . . hard to explain," Ace said eventually.

"Do try," Marco suggested, his tone borderline sarcastic, just enough to be mocking. With Marco's default expression being so hard to read, it was impossible to tell exactly what his inflection was. Ace flipped him the bird almost casually and moved on.

"I was really tired. From being unconscious for so long, probably. Things didn't feel right; I was—am still, at least a little bit—disoriented. Plus, I think Tasuka gave me something funny."

"Nah," Thatch said, grinning. "You're one of the few she actually likes."

"Maybe if you didn't insist on putting her syringes in jell-o she wouldn't hate you," Ace retorted.

"Oh? Defending her, are we?"

"No! Because you put _my_ shit in jell-o too!"

"Don't disrespect the prank! I put a lot of time and effort into that!"

"Where did you even store that jell-o, by the way?" Marco asked. "I don't remember seeing it around."

Thatch puffed with pride. "Oh, I have a few places."

"Big enough to store enough jell-o to literally immerse every damn thing on the Moby Dick that's not bigger than a breadbox?" Ace growled.

"Yup. C'mon, man, you know about a few of them."

Confusion crossed Ace's features before it was chased away by understanding. "Oh. You don't mean—"

Thatch grinned. "Yes. I do."

"Dude! I was saving that room!"

"For what? The dog hair you've been collecting from Stefan?"

Marco nearly choked. " _What_?"

"Okay, okay, I can explain that," Ace said, putting his palms up placatingly. "See, Tsu from my division's birthday was a while ago and I was gonna make her this super-awesome paintbrush, but then I got distracted and procrastinated so I thought I'd make a back up mustache for Oyaji."

The two other commanders in the room blinked, unsure if they'd heard correctly. "Sorry?"

"A back up mustache," Ace repeated patiently. "You know, in case something happens to the one he has now? You can never be too careful."

Thatch snickered, picturing his father with a dog hair mustache. Marco kept a careful poker face but anyone could see the way his eyes were twinkling.

"Ace," Thatch eventually managed, "if you ever give that to him, please have a Den Den Mushi handy. I want video. And pictures. _Please_."

It was slight; barely noticeable. Had Marco not been paying attention he probably wouldn't have noticed the slight hesitation, the way Ace seemed to stiffen for a fraction of a second before a grin pulled at his lips and hid the pain glowing in his eyes.

"Sure, Thatch," Ace said. "You think Vista would want one too? I'm sure I could dye it."

Thatch was openly laughing and even Marco was cracking a smile.

But both commanders had noticed the inconsistencies in Ace's behavior, cataloguing them for further study later.

The rest of the dinner passed with a jovial atmosphere that was only ruined when Thatch tried to speak in the third person and crack puns at the same time, which resulted in both Ace and Marco setting themselves on fire in protest. Though it had no effect, the actions had told Thatch that puns were not his strong suit and that both of his friends were sarcastic little shits.

After the conversation had begun dying down, Ace had begun showing more noticeable signs of exhaustion and Marco had caught him wincing more than once. Apparently his wounds were not as healed as they appeared, so they had left Ace to recover on his own.

Now, Marco and Thatch were walking away from Ace's room, laden with dishes and such. Ace had wanted to help carry but Marco had all but ordered the stubborn boy to bed and then shut the door firmly for good measure, even though Ace was free to leave his room whenever he wanted. It made Marco feel better to have the door closed, no matter how easily it could be opened.

"I'm worried, Marco," Thatch muttered as they dropped off the plates and other dishes. Marco grunted his agreement, lost in his own thoughts but still listening all the same. "It's obviously still Ace; the guy's one of a kind, after all, and no one's got the balls to try to infiltrate us, at least not by pretending to be one of our commanders."

"It doesn't explain why he exploded," Marco said. Thatch, one of his longtime friends, could see the barely visible frustration in his friend's body language. "Nothing does. I've never seen that happen to him; even when he's trying new techniques, Ace has always had basic control over his techniques."

"We could ask his old crew about what he was like when he first got the Mera Mera no Mi," Thatch pointed out. Marco frowned.

"They're on a different ship right now. Plus, I'd prefer to drag as few people into this as possible. Whatever's going on with Ace, it's serious and it's probably personal. We may be family, but you and I are closer to Ace than most of the other people on this shape save Oyaji. We should respect Ace's privacy and try to spread this around as little as possible."

"Gotcha. Speaking of Oyaji, we should tell him that Ace has recovered. Or at least can stay conscious. I didn't get the chance to while I was preparing food."

"I was busy with division reports. And Thatch, count yourself lucky; one of your more helpful members did yours for you." Marco ignored Thatch's cheer. "Oyaji's probably been waiting all day; he really does care for Ace."

"As do we all," Thatch said seriously.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"Oyaji!" Marco knocked slightly louder on the door. Near his feet, Stefan the dog lifted his head and regarded Marco evenly, probably deciding whether it was worth it or not to bark at Marco. Evidently deciding that it wasn't, Stefan put his head back down and went back to sleep with a speed that only dogs possessed. Dogs and narcoleptics. "It's Marco and Thatch."

Whitebeard's deep voice was clearly audible from inside. "Come in, my sons."

After a brief look at Thatch, Marco pushed open the door, stepping inside and then to the right to let Thatch in as well. The fourth division commander gently closed the door behind him, leaving the two in the flickering candlelight. Whitebeard was propped up in bed, a book held in one giant hand. The lighting was too uncertain for Marco to read the title but he could guess that it was one of Whitebeard's favorites, one of the books he read when he was worried about his children.

"You wished to speak?" Whitebeard asked, his voice practically resonating throughout the room. Even lying down, the man dominated the space he was in, and not just because of his sheer size.

"Yes, Oyaji," Marco said. "It's about Ace." Immediately, Whitebeard's expression became worried.

"Is he feeling better? He's had quite the bit of trouble these past few weeks."

"He is," Marco affirmed. "In fact, he's regained consciousness and is healthy enough to be back in his regular quarters. He can even eat like the black hole he usually is."

Whitebeard let out a slow laugh. "Good to hear!"

"If I may," Thatch began, stepping forward. When both of the other sets of eyes in the room fell on him, he continued. "Oyaji, there's something . . . off about Ace. Not _wrong_ , per say, but _different_. Today, when we first went to see him, he thought we weren't real. He was saying similar things the last times he was conscious, but this time he wasn't barely coherent or hysterical; he firmly believed that I was an illusion or hallucination of some kind."

"I can confirm that," Marco added. "He seemed surprised when I talked to Thatch."

"That is most disturbing," Whitebeard admitted, frowning. "Has he become sure of his reality by now?"

"Yes," Thatch said. "He was behaving almost normally during dinner, but I noticed that whenever I speak directly to him, especially about promises or the future in general, he hesitates before responding. It's slight, but it's there and it's noticeable."

"I've noticed it as well," Marco put in. "He doesn't do the same thing when any other crewmembers are involved, and other than that hesitation, he seems perfectly at ease."

"Could it be amnesia?" Whitebeard questioned. "He did explode. Nearly took out this ship in the process."

Thatch noted dryly (and inside the privacy of his own mind) that Whitebeard seemed entirely unconcerned with how much the damages to the ship had cost. Having been in contact with Marco—who was in charge of managing the budget for things like that—Thatch knew that repairs hadn't been cheap. Then again, Whitebeard's amassed fortune was no small matter; the man was a Yonko. Going broke wasn't a problem.

"It's possible," Marco hedged. "I don't want to rule out any possibilities right now. It's also possible that he's an impostor, though how that would work I don't know. Thatch and I were discussing it on the way here."

"He is not an impostor," Whitebeard stated. "I trust my sons, and confused or not, Ace is a part of our family. Have faith in him; whatever preys on his mind will pass."

"I know, Oyaji," Marco said softly. "It's the time before that happens that worries me."

"Hmph. Keep an eye on him; make sure he doesn't do anything reckless."

"You got it, Pops," Thatch said, grinning in response to Whitebeard's amused look while studiously ignoring Marco's sigh.

The two commanders left Whitebeard's quarters feeling significantly less conflicted than they had when they entered.

* * *

 _A/N There can never be enough Marco, Thatch, and Ace bonding. Those three are so awesome together. And Whitebeard. He's cool too._

 _Reviews:_

 _poemado: Ace isn't completely healed yet. Just enough to function normally (though not without discomfort/pain). There shall be nightmare comfort in future chapters._

 _Wordlet: Luffy won't be appearing much in this story besides passing mention. At the end, however, I do intend to do one or possibly more chapters on Ace's meeting with Luffy in Alabasta. I won't redo the whole arc, however, because I'm a lazy bastard._

 _LittleChomper: Yup!_

 _Feel free to comment on the story, ask questions, guess what's next, or anything else. The next chapter should be out next Tuesday or next Friday, depending on how stressed I am. I'll try to keep my profile updated if anything happens, but no promises._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	5. Chapter 5

_Good lord I'm tired. On the bright side, I've written the last chapter for this story. (But I skipped all the chapters between then and now, so don't worry; this story isn't_ that _short.)_

* * *

Chapter 5

Ace grinned, an indescribable happiness filling him up and warming his insides, as he stepped into the grand mess hall of the Moby Dick.

Well, "grand" was one word for it. The room was big, sure; it had to be big to house to many hungry pirates at once, especially since many of said pirates were some of the strongest (and hungriest) on the seas. But "grand" implied elegance, opulence, and expensive décor. The Moby Dick had none of those, but it made up for them in volume, population, and _life_. Where an elegant ballroom may have been vast, even with dancers there were places where an echoing emptiness lurked. In the mess hall, there were no such spaces. The energy of the Whitebeard Pirates might as well have been a living thing; it ebbed and flowed through the air, congregating where conversations broke into uproarious laughter and weaving through crowded tables of low conversation, only to swell again where other pirates were bursting into song.

"Oh, Ace!" Someone called, grinning. "Good to see you up! You feeling better?"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks."

The pirate grinned and went back to his conversation while Ace stepped out of the doorway to avoid being bulldozed by another wave of hungry pirates. He absently rubbed the scar on his chest, finding the dull ache it radiated oddly comforting. It anchored him, reminded him of what was real when he was confronted by a sight his mind kept telling him was fantasy.

In all truth, Ace was surprised that no one held a grudge against him for what had happened weeks ago. He figured that people would be upset over the fact that he had nearly torched their beloved ship, but according to Tasuka, once it became clear that no one's injuries were permanent, people had forgiven him.

Just like a real family would, because they _were_ a real family. The thought made Ace's smile all the brighter as he began to slip through the crowd in the direction of the food. It smelled incredible. He piled his tray as high as it could go—and then some—and somehow managed to make it to a table without spilling any on his brothers and sisters. Long accustomed to Ace's nearly insatiable appetite, the Whitebeard Pirates merely cleared the way, never even pausing in their conversations.

Ace set to devouring his breakfast with a vengeance. Each bite brought relief from the hunger pains that had been bothering Ace since he woke up; no matter how much he had for dinner, he was always hungry by the next morning. He blamed Garp.

The clatter of two trays being set down next to him brought Ace's attention away from his food for long enough to let him register that Thatch and Marco had just sat down across from him. They had passively amused expressions on their faces and Ace paused, his mouth —half full.

"Wh—" he quickly chewed and swallowed, realizing that he wasn't understandable with four pancakes in his mouth, "what? Do I have something on my face?"

"Besides half your breakfast?" Thatch joked, grinning. "No, it's just good to see you up and about. I was worried that after all the food you had yesterday, you wouldn't be feeling good."

"You should know my diet better than anyone, Thatch."

"I don't think that you can call it a diet."

Ace stuck out his tongue and continued eating. Marco dragged Thatch into a conversation about paperwork—Ace remembered them talking about it the night before, too—with rapidly evolved into Thatch complaining about the food budget, as he always did. Before long, Ace joined the argument, his words interspersed with pauses while he polished off any bit of Thatch or Marco's food that they left untouched and unguarded.

"Thatch," Marco said after Thatch mentioned they needed a new oven, "the only reason you need a new oven in the first place is because you destroyed it while trying to make—and I quote—'the greatest cake in the world'."

"Trying to?" Thatch repeated, affecting an offended tone. "You underestimate my skill, Marco! It _was_ the greatest cake in the world, without a doubt!"

"Emphasis on the 'was'," Ace put in. "It blew up before you finished it."

"No," Thatch muttered, shooting Ace a sullen glare, " _you_ blew it up."

"I did no such thing."

"What are you talki—"

"Fine, fine," Ace interrupted, his face going slightly red. "I thought we agreed not to talk about that."

"You're the one that brought it up."

"How you two are commanders is beyond me," Marco said. Thatch grinned.

"Oh, shut up. You know you love us."

Ace snorted. "Say that for yourself."

"You wound me!"

"Good."

The three began a good-natured round of bickering. While commenting that Marco probably had a pineapple in his room to help him style his hair correctly in the mornings, Ace tried to ignore the part of his mind that was still marveling at the surrealistic feel to the entire situation. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, however, he still found himself stealing glances at Thatch every now and then, making sure that the fourth division commander was still there. Ace had already committed every detail of the man's face to memory and he grinned whenever Thatch did, an indescribable sense of being complete washing away his worries, at least temporarily.

Things went sour almost immediately after Ace began to feel comfortable, as they tended to do. The door to the mess hall opened—as it had been doing for the past hour almost constantly—but this time, Ace felt his awareness drawn to the presence almost instantly. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and an instinctive tide of anger swept through him, making whatever joke he had been about to tell die on his lips.

Now, Ace had never been known for his Haki; he was "Fire Fist" Ace for a reason. People tended to focus on his Devil Fruit powers before they looked any further, and it was a rare day that Ace felt pushed to use what limited skills he had.

No one got to the New World without picking up a few tricks, and Ace had picked his up from any crewmembers willing to indulge his curiosity. Ace was a quick learner, and though Ace's Observation Haki was good in a fight, he struggled to use it as well as, say, Marco did in regular life (more than one of Thatch's pranks had been foiled because Marco saw them coming before he even turned the corner). Nevertheless, Ace would recognize the presence that just entered the room even if he was in the middle of drowning while blind and deaf.

He was turning, standing, _burning_ before he even fully realized what he was doing. Memories of mocking laughter and darkness filled his mind's eye and he remembered that Teach had wanted to go after Luffy, that Teach had been fully intending to hurt Ace's little brother, that Teach had murdered Thatch.

There would be no forgiveness, no mercy, no hesit —

"Ace?" Upon hearing the familiar, concerned voice, Ace glanced down and saw Thatch giving him a confused look. Alive, _breathing_ Thatch. "Is something wrong?"

Teach's presence moved to the line for food. Ace tightened his hands into fists, wanting desperately to burn the man to a crisp, but now more people's eyes were being drawn to him and he couldn't just up and murder a traitor before anyone _knew_ that he was a traitor. If Ace killed Teach now, he knew, _he_ would be the one in the wrong. And though he hated it, hated the way logic was stopping him from doing what needed to be done, Ace let the flames coating his fists go out. Breathing deeply, Ace sat back down, schooling his expression and ignoring Marco's assessing look.

"Sorry. Thought I heard something."

One of Thatch's eyebrows crept up. "Really? What'd you hear that made you do _that_?"

"It's nothing."

And Ace had never been more thankful that his friends were so understanding, because the two commanders merely exchanged a look and then dropped the subject. As though sensing the disappearance of the tension in the room, the nearby crewmembers turned their attention back to their own conversations.

"Anyway," Marco said, "we're stopping on an island soon. We're supposed to get formal clothing."

"Formal clothing?" Thatch asked, Ace echoing his words. "Why?"

"Dunno." The first division commander shrugged, swallowing another bite of his breakfast. "I wasn't told. Izo and Haruta seemed excited about it, though, and I think they dragged Tallie into it too."

"Tallie?" Ace repeated. "So it's a party of some kind."

He received two strange looks for that. "What?"

"Why do you think it's a party?" Asked Thatch curiously. Ace reddened, partially because he had automatically blurted that out (he remembered this party, after all; it had been quite the experience) and partially because he got the feeling he wasn't supposed to, especially if the dirty look from a passing Haruta was anything to go by. Ace mouthed an apology at the man's retreating back and turned back to his friends.

"Well, whenever Tallie gets involved, it's always for a party. The last one was . . . someone's birthday. They had that giant clock-gear-thing. I still don't know how they got it. Or where it went when they finished with it."

Marco's expression soured. "They never tell me where they got the money for it, either."

"Tallie probably has it stashed away in her room," Thatch said, sounding sure of himself. Ace shrugged.

"Probably. I wouldn't be surprised."

"Well, if it really is a party," Marco said, "then I need to go make some preparations right now. Thatch, I'll need your help for the cooking they'll probably bully you into doing for them."

"Bully? No one bullies me!"

"Tasuka?"

"That's _threatening_. It's different. Anyone has a right to be afraid of strange drugs, Marco!"

Ace watched them leave, mulling over the idea of the upcoming party before standing. Teach's presence was making him sick inside and he wanted to leave. Responding casually to the usual catcalls (not wearing a shirt was his own decision, dammit, not some "call for the ladies"), Ace left the mess hall.

If his pace quickened when Teach began leaving as well, no one had to know. Ace made it all the way to the figurehead before Teach left, returning to whatever section of the Moby Dick he usually occupied. Luckily, he and Ace didn't interact much outside the usual commander-to-division-member relationship, which was good. Ace wouldn't be able to talk to the guy without killing him yet.

The constant, calming rocking of the Moby Dick helped to steady Ace's thoughts and he jumped onto the giant whale figurehead, intentionally ignoring the stairs and enjoying the sea breeze as it took his hair and played with it, running invisible fingers through its black strands.

"If you fall in the water, I'm not jumping in to save you. I just got my mustache back after you burned it off, you know!"

"Ah, can it, Vista!" Ace called, turning and grinning down at the swordsman standing on the deck. Then he became more serious. "I am sorry for any trouble I caused."

Vista waved him off with a smile. "No need to worry. It was only temporary; no one blames you for it, anyway. Now don't go falling in the ocean again."

Ace rubbed the back of his head almost sheepishly. "I'll try. The figurehead's pretty big; I should be fine."

"'Should be' is not very reassuring. At all."

Laughing off Ace's response before the boy could even really make it, Vista turned. "If you see him, let Marco know that I'm going ahead to make sure the island doesn't have any of that 'criminal activity' we've been hearing about."

Ace sat up straight with interest. "What island?"

"Toraburu Island. It's not very big, but the town we're headed to is supposed to have good shopping for clothing. I need to replace my cape and boots, so it works out. Especially with that special event coming up."

"You know about it?"

"I have guesses; I don't know if they are right. Anyway, I'm off."

"Wait!" The larger man paused, raising one eyebrow. "Um . . . can I come with you?"

"You are still injured, are you not?"

"Well, yeah. But I can fight, and I'm getting tired of sitting around doing nothing. Two weeks of unconsciousness makes even a day of normalcy seem . . . boring." That, and Ace had so much residual adrenaline from just sensing Teach that he needed to burn it off, preferably by punching someone in the face.

"Would Tasuka be okay with this? I don't want to be on her bad side again. She is the main doctor for our crew, after all."

"You can just go to Kisha," Ace said dismissively. "She's the head nurse. She'll help keep Tasuka's anger in check."

"Her job is for Oyaji. You seem to forget that Tasuka is our doctor and Kisha is Oyaji's personal nurse."

"She's also in charge of everything medical on this ship."

Vista sighed, sensing that he would not be winning this argument. "Fine. I shall ask Marco. If he says yes, then you may join me."

"You bringin' anyone else?" Ace asked, jumping down from the figurehead and hiding a wince at the pain that shot up his legs.

"A few others to make sure that things don't get too rowdy."

"Makes sense. Listen; you go do what you were about to do. I'll go ask Marco, since this was my idea in the first place."

"That's fine."

The two pirates separated and Ace jogged to the entrance that led below decks, quickly slipping past anyone in the narrow hallways. He barged into Marco's office, ignoring the scathing glare he received.

"Knocking," Marco said dryly. "It's nothing new. Been around for centuries, actually."

"I'm helping you to keep on your toes," Ace said, sounding pleased with the blatantly false reason. "Anyway, Vista is going on a mission to check out Toraburu Island. Can I go with him?"

"You're that eager for action?"

"Yes."

Marco sighed, momentarily setting down his pen and rubbing his forehead. Then he sighed again, picked up his pen, and continued writing. "Fine. But if you get your ass in trouble, I'm not getting you out."

"I'm so touched."

"Get out of here, brat."

"You know you love me!"

Ace left, casually stepping to one side as Thatch passed him—the man's expression was borderline impish—and smiling to the sound of Marco cursing and a burst of blue fire.

* * *

 _A/N Poor Ace. Teach/Blackbeard is right there and he can't do anything about it yet._

 _Reviews:_

 _Houkiboshi59: Saving Thatch? Well, that remains to be seen._

 _InvictusReaping: No. You just happened to have good timing._

 _So close to done with school. So . . . damned . . . close . . ._

 _Anyway, next chapter will have a little action, since this story seems to be lacking that. And fights are fun. No idea when it'll be out; I'm guessing Friday or Saturday._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	6. Chapter 6

_And we're back to your regularly scheduled programming._

* * *

Chapter 6

Ace let out a contented sigh for what must have been the sixth time in as many minutes. His day could not be much better; he was out on the ocean, in Striker, blazing across the vast waters under his own power with nothing but distance in his way.

Well, distance and Vista's ship. Ace swerved out from behind the smaller ship, noting that Vista had taken the liberty of putting the Whitebeard Pirate flag prominently on it, just to make sure that everyone within seeing distance would be sure exactly who it was that was sailing their way. Ace grinned, increasing the flames from his feet and speeding up next to the boat, holding that pace and glancing over at Vista, who was in the middle of a discussion with one of the men he'd chosen to accompany him.

"Hey, Vista!"

The commander of the fifth division glanced over. "What is it, Ace?"

"What's the plan?"

Vista looked momentarily stunned, as though he'd forgotten that he had neglected to tell Ace the plan before the entire group had taken off from the Moby Dick. He recovered quickly, however, and his voice carried over the sound of Striker slicing through the waves.

"I'll tell you when we reach port. It's not complicated."

"Find the assholes and punch them?"

Vista let out a thin smile that was every bit as predatory as the all-out grin on Ace's face. "Yes, something like that."

"Just what I needed," Ace muttered, pulling away from Vista's boat. The man shot Ace a quizzical look, but Ace's words hadn't been meant for him. Vista hadn't heard the entirety of them, anyway.

It took another hour of sailing to reach Toraburu Island, and then half an hour on top of that for Ace and Vista to get through customs at the dock. Normally, being members of the Whitebeard Pirates, the two would just breeze right through the procedure, but now they had to verify that the two were, in fact, pirates, and that yes, they were, surprisingly enough, members of Whitebeard's crew and not, definitely not, impostors in any way, shape, or form.

By the end of it, one of the other pirates had to hold Ace back to prevent Ace from frying the annoying, bigoted official that had a disproportionate face and enough fat on his stomach to feed a small family.

"You know," Ace remarked as they walked into the port town of Mina, the only town the island really had, "I think I saw evidence of criminal activity against us in that customs building. I could burn it to the ground and get it over with quickly. Just a suggestion."

Vista chuckled. "No, I don't think that would be wise. This island is supposed to be under our protection; it's why we've come here, after all."

"I thought it was for the clothes."

"That as well. Just look around you."

Ace complied, looking out from under the brim of his orange hat at the numerous shops that lined the thoroughfare. The majority of them had clothes and mannequins tin the windows, some arranged in rather odd poses, while others had food and a great variety of products. He ignored the suspicious looks from the locals; even though they were under Whitebeard's protection, they still had an unfriendly disposition towards pirates in general. Ace was used to it.

"So," Ace said, looking around, "I think . . . one sec."

Vista watched as Ace walked up to a nearby merchant. He couldn't hear the words exchanged—they were speaking in low tones—but Vista did see the beri that passed from Ace's hand to the merchant's and the calculating gleam in the merchant's eye. A minute later, Ace returned, looking satisfied.

"What did you find?" Vista asked. Ace shrugged, still appearing pleased.

"Nothing much. Just that a local restaurant—the Spiked Hatchet—is a gathering spot for all the unsavory types."

Vista shared Ace's grin. "I suppose we are unsavory types."

"I'd agree. Shall we go crash the party?"

"This trip wouldn't be any fun if we didn't."

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

The Spiked Hatchet was an unsavory sort of place, the perfect hangout for all the unsavory types that frequented the port city, exactly as the merchant Ace that Ace had bribed said. Its paint job was unsavory, its clientele was unsavory, even its food and drink were unsavory. The place's only redeeming quality was that no one talked about what went on inside, outside. If they did, they would not be able to talk for long.

Ace fancied himself one of the more . . . savory patrons to step through the door that day. Certainly Vista was one, though Ace wasn't sure about the other three pirates they'd brought along for the ride. The other customers definitely picked up on the new air about the strangers, for they turned to the door with hostile glares and like a candle going out, all conversation died. The sudden silence was disconcerting; or it would have been, had Ace not been used to establishments going silent at his entry.

Unaffected by the tension in the air, Ace strolled up to the bar and sat at an open stool, relaxing into the position and, for all intents and purposes, looking like he belonged.

Vista, recognizing that Ace was playing a role he knew like the backs of his hands, stayed by the door while the other three Whitebeard Pirates scattered around the room, blending in almost as effectively as any other man would have.

Ace ordered a drink from the surly bartender while paying no mind to the eyes of the—well, he assumed it was the bouncer. The man easily matched Vista in size and his biceps were twice the width of Ace's. Overall, he did not look to be a man to mess with.

Unfortunately, Ace knew he would probably be messing with that man at some point in the very near future.

"Whitebeard's boys, eh?" A nearby man who was also sitting at the bar said. He was nursing his own drink, shooting Ace a difficult-to-interpret sideways look all the while.

"I'd hope so," Ace replied good-naturedly, "or the tattoo on my back is rather awkward, wouldn't you think?"

The man looked unamused. "I didn't ask a question to bandy words, boy."

Ace automatically bristled at the "boy" comment. He was twenty, going on twenty-one, and had proven himself to be older in both mind and body than most boys his age. Recognizing that the comment mattered little in the long run, however, Ace dismissed it and let an easy smile return to his face.

"Shame, because that's why I'm here. I've heard some rather . . . disturbing rumors. Not the kind that a Whitebeard Pirate such as myself is fond of hearing, if you catch my drift."

The man scoffed, looking into his drink with such intensity that Ace wondered what was in it. "Foolish. You shouldn't travel places on rumor alone; it can land you in troublesome situations."

"Would you know, sir?" Ace asked, deciding to go the polite route to see if he could get any information that way. The man snorted at the word, looking amused more than anything.

"Sir," he repeated lowly. "Haven't been called that in a long time, especially not by a yung'un like yourself." The man fell silent but Ace waited, knowing he was going to continue. After he took a long sip of his drink, he did.

"Do you know about Raftel, boy?"

"Of course," Ace said instantly. He realized a moment later that the man wanted a better answer than that. "Uh, yeah. Yes. It's the island at the end of the New World where One Piece is supposedly hidden."

The man looked almost curious. "Is that all it is to you?"

Ace was taken aback by the question but he answered anyway. "No." He didn't intend to go into any more detail, and the man seemed to be able to tell that much from Ace's closed expression. He laughed.

"Well, then, I won't stand in your way. I'm just a relic, after all." He looked wistfully at the drink in his hand, his mind far away. "A disgraced captain with no crew and no ship. Making a living in a shit port town like this . . . ha. Ha! If I could see myself now, I would think I'd die."

"What?" Ace kept his expression neutral, but he wasn't sure whether the old man was talking to him or not. His confusion vanished when the man pinned him with a hard stare.

"Let me tell you this, young man." It was a step up from boy. A small one, but noticeable. "Sometimes, it's better not to see yourself."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ace said, managing to keep the confusion out of his voice as he pocketed the phrase for more examination later. The man was talking again, and he quickly tuned back in.

"—I was saying before, I'll help you, if only because your burn more brightly than any of the wannabe pirates that have come through here before. I like your fire. It burns slowly, but it burns hot."

"Uh . . . thanks?"

The man continued as though Ace had never spoken. "The men you're looking for are part of the Blue Cross Gang in this town. The leader used to be a marine and got it into his head that staying in this town and causing trouble in one of Whitebeard's territories would get the locals to rise up and throw off Whitebeard's protection." He finished the last of his drink and stood, leaving some money on the counter. He had a strange expression on his face. "Didn't work, of course, because people enjoy safety. All the members have a blue cross on their wrists. Proud bastards, too. Tried to run me out of town once."

Ace raised an eyebrow. "How'd that go?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

The man left without another word. Ace watched him go, still not sure what to make of him. After another minute spent finishing his beer, Ace stood, paid using some money he had pick pocketed off other patrons of the bar on his way over, and walked up to Vista. He explained the information he'd found out from the old man in a low undertone. Vista nodded, understanding what needed to be done instantly.

"I'll take this place," Ace murmured, feeling more stares begin to bore into his back. "You get the rest."

Vista smiled. It was not a nice smile. "Shall I leave some for you?"

"Please. I'd hate to miss out on any of the fun out there."

Ace and Vista parted ways, with the three other Whitebeard Pirates drifting out of the Spiked Hatchet with enough of a relaxed air to draw almost no attention. The other reason they went largely unnoticed was that Ace had moved to stand in the middle of the room.

The nonverbal message was clear: I don't fear attacks from any of you, and I am confident that I can defend myself from all sides all at once.

It was bold. It was not wrong.

"All right," Ace began, cracking his knuckles while a menacing smile pulled at his lips, showing his teeth. "Who wants to get this party started? I know you Blue Cross bastards are in here. Come on out; I don't have all day."

He did, but he wasn't feeling patient at the moment.

One particularly dense man finally stood up even as the other occupants of his table hissed warnings at him. "Stupid pirate. Ya think you can handle all of us at once?"

"Wouldn't be here if I didn't."

And just like that, the fight was on. More than three quarters of the patrons—including a guy that had been passed out on the floor a minute ago, which Ace just found amusing—rushed at the second division commander, brandishing all manner of weapons and yelling all kinds of threats.

Ace silenced the first man with a hard punch to the throat and then the next three with a sweeping kick that sent them crashing to the ground. Ducking low with the kick, Ace avoided getting an axe to the head, and countered with a right hook powered by all the muscles in his arms and legs as he stood tall again. The man never stood a chance and he crumpled. Ace lashed out with a bone-crunching kick that sent the semiconscious man into four of his comrades and then grinned at the man who had tried to stab him.

The knife remained buried in Ace's stomach, but the pirate kept grinning. The attacker's expression went from triumphant to horrified when he saw the flames licking the edge of the wound.

"Forgive me, gents," Ace said, still smiling as he back flipped onto the table and drew his hat away from his eyes. "I forgot to introduce myself properly. I apologize; Fire Fist Ace, second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, at your service."

Two men fainted on the spot. Ace attacked before they even hit the ground, taking out any men attempting to flee with brutal efficiency. Only one man there knew Haki and Ace saw his punch coming a mile away, grabbed the offending limb, and forcibly wrenched it to one side. The man screamed in pain as his shoulder dislocated and then went silent when Ace hit him with a right hook to the jaw. He dropped, his head making an ugly thud against the ground.

Ace mopped up the last of the wannabe vigilantes, taking pleasure in beating the living daylights out of anyone that resisted too much. Soon, only the bartender was left. He was still behind the bar, but his sour expression had become significantly more ashen.

The pirate glanced at the unconscious gang member he held aloft by the wrist. With an almost casual grace, Ace tossed the man to one side. He landed on a pile of his unconscious compatriots, and a thick silence blanketed the tavern. All the other customers had quickly left once the fighting started, though Ace could see a few that had gotten caught in the fighting.

He eyed the bartender with an entirely new level of distaste. "I figured you'd be the type to hide behind a barrier."

The bartender grinned a sickly grin, full of fake confidence and wavering bravado. "I don't want to hear a pirate insult me."

"You're the leader, aren't you? I saw your tattoo when you handed me my drink. Seems a lot more like a repurposed marine tattoo to me."

"Like you know anything about tattoos."

"Actually," Ace drawled, casually running a hand down his ASCE tattoo, "I do. Call it personal experience."

The silence returned. The two stared each other down, though Ace had another two inches at least on the barkeep.

Ace cleared his throat, halting the advance of the bouncer, who had been trying to sneak up on him. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but let me give you a tip; try not to sound like a drunken bear when you're attempting to be stealthy."

"Don't be so rude, brat," the bouncer growled, giving up on his sneak attack. Ace rolled his eyes.

"Please. I've _seen_ a drunken bear. Hell, I'm the one that _got_ it drunk, with help. It was _still_ better at being quiet than you are."

The bouncer's face was flushed red, almost as much as the bartender's. Ace managed to angle himself so that he could see both. "Listen. You two seem like reasonable people. If you would just stay still so I can work out some of my problems, this will go swimmingly. If not . . ." He shrugged. "I can't promise anything."

A bullet whizzed through Ace's head, momentarily turning his left eye to fire. Ace leveled the bartender with a hard glare made all the more intimidating by the burning hole in his head. " _Really_? Of all your options, you choose that one? Jeez, there were better marines in the East Blue."

The bartender was given no time to respond because Ace was already lunging at him, fist pulled back. Fist met flesh and the bartender flew through the wall, shattering bottles of cheep booze and instantly making the whole place reek of alcohol. The bouncer, powerful though he may have been, was no match for Ace's Haki-infused foot and quickly followed his leader out through another hole in the wall.

Grinning and feeling rather pleased with himself, Ace turned his attention to the town. He cracked his neck, working out some stiffness that remained from his injuries. They burned with a dull fire, but it was nothing Ace couldn't handle. He'd fought with worse many times before.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"I think that went well," Ace mused, hands behind his head as he walked side-by-side with Vista. The other three pirates trailed behind. Everyone had emerged from the town-wide brawl with minimal injuries; Vista was miffed about a small tear in his cape, Ace had a new cut on his arm from an overzealous archer with an annoying Haki talent—though, by all rights, the arrow should have been able to take off Ace's arm had it been in the hands of a master Haki user, not just give a scratch that barely broke skin—and the three other pirates had come off with a small assortment of minor bruises and cuts.

Overall, Ace thought, it had turned out to be a nice evening, and a great way to burn off the inner tension he'd been feeling since laying eyes on Teach.

Vista grunted his agreement, still examining the tear in his cloak. "Do you think Vera would be willing to fix this?"

"Dunno," Ace replied easily. "Probably. She does like sewing, though she might charge you her fee."

"Fee? She doesn't have a fee. We're family."

Ace paused, expression dimming. "Then why did she charge me two hundred beri for—hey, Vista, why are you laughing?"

The older pirate calmed and gave Ace a sympathetic look. "You'll learn sooner or later. I'm just surprised; you seem to have a good grasp of money, unlike most of our brothers and sisters."

"'Course," Ace scoffed. "I had to learn the tricks of bargaining and shit 'cause my little brother couldn't do it to save his life."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Little shit knew it, too. Never tried to do anything he knew he couldn't."

"He sounds smarter than you give him credit for."

Ace laughed. "Luffy's a bit more complicated than that. The only way to tell is to meet him."

"I hope we do that someday."

 _"I'll save you even if it kills me!"_

Ace's jovial expression evaporated entirely. "Yeah. That'd be nice."

The conversation sputtered and died. Neither pirate made an effort to resurrect it until they were on their way back to the Moby Dick. Ace had decided to ride on Vista's boat, since Striker's engine had been making a strange noise earlier and Ace didn't want to risk damaging the small craft.

"It was a nice town," Vista mused, watching it slowly slip beyond the horizon.

"True, once you got past the fact that half its occupants were so anti-Whitebeard it's a miracle they accepted Oyaji's protection in the first place."

"Ah, you know that at least a quarter of the people we fought were just fighting for fun, not because they were actually a part of that gang."

Ace scoffed. "Idiots. Didn't recognize the ass kicking for what it was. Anyway, they learned their lesson."

"Yes, I believe they did."

This time, the silence was comfortable.

Ace decided that all was right with the world, and was asleep almost as soon as he realized that his body felt heavier than normal.

* * *

 _A/N Well, my ability to write fight scenes has definitely improved, though I still have a ways to go. It's one of the benefits of writing fanfiction, I guess._

 _Reviews:_

 _Guest: Ace has a plan for dealing with Teach. He thinks._

 _LittleChomper: I'm glad at least someone picked up on the name. It's how I'm naming most of the made-up elements in this story._

 _I have no clue when the next chapter will be out, though it should be soon._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	7. Chapter 7

_If you want to get something done, listen to the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack while you're doing it. It's surprisingly motivating._

* * *

Chapter 7

Nightmares are terrifying concepts. Once they begin, they are nearly impossible to escape. They latch on and don't let go, slowly sinking their wicked claws deeper and deeper until there is nothing left. If left alone, they will only grow more and more powerful, more and more dangerous.

Ace was experiencing that now. He'd been trying to ignore the horrifying flashbacks that dominated his dreamscape in favor of focusing on the future and what he could do to change it, but it had been two weeks now and he wasn't sleeping well at all. Even Marco and Thatch had noticed that his narcolepsy was getting to be more of a problem than a funny occasional occurrence, and Ace had had three attacks the other day alone. Of course, when he intentionally tried to sleep, he lay tossing and turning for hours, drifting in a semiconscious state that left him with bitter echoes of dark memories.

But the Moby Dick had been hit by a storm that day and Ace had spent the entire time organizing his division to make sure that the Moby Dick didn't bow to the forces of nature; he'd destroyed so many giant hailstones that his body had gone numb and no amount of fire had been able to heat it up.

The rain was still falling even in the middle of the night, but it was calmer now. Marco and Thatch and Izo—the last of whom had noticed Ace nearly collapsing and falling into the ocean when he finally finished tying the sail that had been breaking free of its gaskets all day—had all but forced Ace back to his room so he could "sleep".

Too overcome by exhaustion, Ace had been unable to say no and had fallen unconscious the moment he was in his bed.

But it was not a peaceful sleep.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Thatch hummed as he worked. He didn't even necessarily realize he was doing it; it was a subconscious action, one that provided small comfort to the chef as he worked. It was late, only getting later, but the crew pulling the night shift to watch for another storm needed snacks and the crew that had just been relieved needed a good meal that wouldn't leave them helpless if another tempest hit.

He spent a while enjoying the familiar motions of cooking and only realized that he had been humming when he finished. He stopped, not quite embarrassed but not relishing the thought of someone hearing him, and was relieved to find that he was still alone in the kitchens. The dull murmur of conversation drifted in from the mess hall, accompanied by the staccato noise of rain drumming against the deck.

It was almost calming.

A few weary cooks stumbled into the kitchen, still dazed from helping to bail out a section of the Moby Dick that had flooded thanks to a particularly vindictive sea king. Thatch eyed them and quickly determined that they were not up for cooking.

"Just serve the stuff I already made," he said, gesturing to the stew. The cooks nodded gratefully and quickly began making preparations. Thatch took the opportunity to relax, something he hadn't been able to do the entire day. He was feeling the strain on his muscles, but he'd been through worse storms. That didn't make it any better, but it was more tolerable. He wondered if Marco was still awake.

Deciding to go for a short walk since he was getting fidgety, Thatch left the kitchen and strolled through the hallways, easily riding the swaying of the ship in the ocean waves. He was almost to Marco's room when he heard it, and he had to stop to listen when he did.

Someone was screaming. The noise twisted Thatch's gut; it was full of pain and mourning, a despairing sound that pierced Thatch's ears as easily as a thunderclap, only this sound was ten times as piercing. After one last glance at Marco's door, Thatch turned and tracked the source of the sound, determined to ease the suffering of whichever brother or sister was in pain.

The sound faded in and out. One moment there was silence, and then the peace was shattered by a shrill scream that tore at Thatch's heart. He quickened his pace.

After a minute of searching—and waving off other concerned crewmembers—Thatch realized where he was heading. A feeling of dread weighing him down, Thatch approached the door and put up a hand to knock, only to wince and hesitate when another scream rent the air. Throwing caution to the wind, Thatch waited for the noise to die down, picked the lock, and slipped inside. He closed the door behind him and locked it again, getting the feeling that privacy was the optimal way to go.

Ace was sprawled out on the only bed in the room, his face scrunched tight with pain and his whole body tense enough to snap. His bed sheets were on the floor, thrown off at some point earlier in the night. His hair was disheveled, his face pale, his body shivering.

Thatch felt his heart break in two but put on a brave face and resolved to help Ace. Approaching the bed with caution, Thatch reached out to shake his friend and brother awake—

Only the end up on the floor, a knee in his gut and a flaming fist inches away from his face.

"Whoa, Ace! Buddy, it's Thatch!" When there was no response, Thatch tried again, sweat beading on his skin from the heat. "Your old friend Thatch? I made you dinner last night!"

The words finally seemed to register with Ace, whose eyes suddenly widened and rapidly filled with a kind of horror. He scrambled off Thatch, his fist returning to normal, and was already spewing apologies when Thatch climbed to his feet. The older man waved them off, dusting off his shirt and casually wiping off his forehead.

"God, Thatch, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—I'm—I was having a nightmare and—"

"It's my fault for startling you," Thatch interrupted, instantly cutting off Ace's babbling. "No need to worry."

"I could've killed you!"

Thatch knew that Ace was right. That fist had been entirely too close and any more would've caused serious problems. But Thatch wouldn't admit that; there was a wild look in Ace's eyes and he appeared frayed around the edges, his breathing too fast and his face too pale to pull off any expression save one of panic. So, Thatch took it upon himself to calm Ace down.

"Nah, give me some credit," Thatch said, grinning jovially and hiding any misgivings he may have had (even though Ace had never attacked him like that before, much less had nightmares _this_ bad; something must have changed). "I'm a commander too! It takes more than a little heat to beat me, you know."

Ace still looked doubtful. "But—"

"Ah, relax. No harm done. Though you owe me hair gel. I spent ten minutes fixing my hair after being outside and you just melted it."

"I'm so sorr—"

"Ah, stop beating yourself up over it. I was kidding; it's just some hair gel. Anyway, that must've been some nightmare. I could hear your cries from the kitchens."

Ace stiffened, his expression closing off so quickly Thatch was nearly taken aback. "Really? Then I'm sorry for disturbing you." He shook his head, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "I'm just . . . tired. Thanks for waking me up. I—" He hesitated. "It's been a while since I've had a nightmare. Old instincts, stuff like that."

Thatch raised an eyebrow. Ace didn't talk much about his past; as an unspoken rule, no one pried. The only thing the Whitebeard Pirates really knew was that he was from the East Blue and had a brother named Luffy (whom Ace would never shut up about once he got started).

"Want to talk about it?" Thatch asked. He definitely wasn't leaving Ace alone. Ace shook his head, and then flushed when his stomach growled.

"Haven't eaten all day," he muttered. "Too busy, I guess."

Thatch let out a horrified gasp, startling Ace. "You haven't _eaten_? No wonder you're so tired! Come, my friend—we shall have a _feast_!"

"I couldn't choke down three rice crackers," Ace said dryly, having recovered from the shock at Thatch's sudden shout. "My head is pounding."

"Then you shall have tea," Thatch declared.

"But I—"

"You. Shall have. Tea!"

Ace relented, knowing that Thatch meant well and not finding the energy within himself to argue.

Thatch led (dragged) Ace to the kitchens, ignoring the latter's questions about why he wasn't being led to the mess hall. After enough badgering, however, Thatch finally said, "Because you're getting special treatment from the head chef, and you're going to sit down and shush or I'm going to stitch your mouth shut."

"But I need my mouth to drink—"

"I'll rip out the stitches."

Ace very much doubted that Thatch knew how to stitch correctly, but the dangerous look in the man's eye convinced him not to question it. Thatch had made tea for Ace on several other occasions—particularly the first night Ace had to do paperwork—and knew Ace's favorite. After finishing preparations he set about actually making the drink, keeping an eye on the clock the entire time. Whitebeard expected an update on the status of the ship within ten minutes, and Thatch had yet to check in with Kiel, who could have been anywhere.

Despite his responsibilities, Thatch continued to make tea, keeping up a steady stream of chatter to fill the empty room all the while. Ace's soft yet shaky smile spoke volumes of his state of mind.

"Thank you," Ace said when Thatch handed him his drink.

"You're very welcome," Thatch replied, grinning. Then his expression dimmed. "I'm sorry to leave just you here, but I need to meet with Kiel. If there's anything you need, just ask, and I'll come running. Plus, anyone here'd be willing to help too."

Ace waved one hand in the air. "No, no. You've d—already helped me enough. More than enough. With the tea, and the me nearly burning your head off, and—"

"Don't start babbling now," Thatch joked. "You sound like such an awkward rookie when you do."

Ace's ears went red. "I'm twenty, dammit! I'm not some rookie!"

Thatch let out a laugh that brightened the atmosphere in the room immediately. "Relax, Ace! You've only been a pirate for, what, three years? Two years?"

"S-so?"

The fourth division commander just shook his head, grinned again, and muttered something under his breath before clapping Ace on the back and taking his leave. Ace watched him go, enjoying the warmth of the drink in his hands. After a few minutes of staring at nothing in particular, he noticed that the tea was beginning to get cold and slowly heated it up with a judicious use of fire. Then he took a sip and tried to relax.

He wasn't at Impel Down, chained to the wall and weighed down without enough chains to strangle a sea king.

He wasn't on a marine battleship, stuck in a chair and forced to stare at a sea he would never roam again.

He wasn't on an execution stand, feeling his freedom slip away and seeing his world fall apart before him.

He was on the Moby Dick. He was home. Most importantly, Luffy was safe, and Thatch was alive. Things were fine.

Deep breath. In. Out. Repeat.

Things were fine.

Ace drank his tea and wished he was better at lying.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace was finishing the last of his tea when the door to the kitchen opened. He glanced at it, wondering if Thatch was back yet, and couldn't help the small feeling of disappointment when he realized the person entering was not Thatch.

"Yo," Marco said, seeing Ace at the table. "Have you seen Thatch? He was supposed to report to Oyaji ten minutes ago, but I haven't been able to find him, yoi."

"He said he was going to talk to Kiel," Ace said, sitting up a little straighter. Marco blinked and then sighed in understanding.

"That man talks for hours. I'll let Oyaji know." Only then did Marco seem to register that Ace was in the kitchen alone late at night. "Why are you in here at this hour, anyway? Didn't Izo tell you to get some rest?"

"There were . . . technical problems," Ace said vaguely, staring into the empty mug.

"Nightmare?" Marco guessed, closing the door and then sliding into the seat across from Ace. Seeing Ace's concerned look, Marco shrugged. "Oyaji wasn't overly worried. I have a few minutes, and it's my time to spend, so don't think you're taking up my time or anything, yoi."

"If you say so, Marco. You don't need to trouble yourself over me."

Marco regarded Ace in silence for a few seconds. "Of course I do. You're my brother." He let the words hang. "So what are you doing here all alone?"

"Thatch was here. He gave me tea but had to leave."

"Were you in here before Thatch got here?"

"Ah, no. I was sleeping, but woke up."

"You just woke up," Marco repeated. Ace nodded, and Marco shook his head. "Bullshit. I've known you for a while, Ace; once you get to sleep only food or the end of your world gets you up. Considering that the storm was mostly gone by an hour ago, it wasn't that, and no one would be banging on your door loud enough to wake you without breaking the thing down."

Marco's tone softened when he saw that Ace was fidgeting, spinning the red and white bracelet on his wrist. "You don't have to say anything you don't want to," he said. "I just want you to know that you don't have to keep whatever's wrong to yourself. We're all family on this ship."

"I know," said Ace with a smile he couldn't quite pull off. It came out sickly and tired. Shamed for reasons he couldn't articulate, Ace looked down at the table, at the mug he was still playing with in his hands.

He wanted to talk to Marco. It was almost a pressure in the back of his mind, a constant push to trust the man before him with the most important secret—

But Ace _did_ trust Marco. Hell, Marco was the one to trust Ace in the beginning; the first division commander put his faith in Whitebeard and reached out to Ace even after the boy had tried to kill his captain over a hundred times. He'd seen Ace at his best and as close as he would get to his worst in public and still treated him the same as always.

Even with all that, Ace _couldn't_. He wanted to, so badly it hurt, so much that if he opened his mouth too soon it would come pouring out, yet he couldn't. So he settled on admitting the small things and settling on the paradox later.

"I . . ." Ace swallowed, still not looking up. "You're right. I—it was a nightmare. A long time ago, my brother—he did something . . . something stupid. Something stupid, and reckless, and dumb, and—and—careless, and I tried to get him to stop, but he did it anyway. And—" Ace took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes while his face twisted at the memory of what Luffy had gone through only to fail in the end. "And he got hurt. Badly. Because I made a stupid decision, my little brother got hurt when all he wanted to do was protect me."

Marco was quiet. The rocking of the ship made the dishes rattle slightly and Ace focused on that in an effort to keep from accidentally shattering the mug he clutched like a lifeline in his hands.

"It shouldn't have happened," Ace continued. His voice was so quiet that the distant mutterings of the crew in the kitchen, muffled through the walls and doors, almost managed to drown it out. "We—no, _he_ should've been happy, should've been laughing and—and I stopped that. I made him cry, I know it, and he'd been so damned _happy_ before and I took that away." His voice was barely a whisper now. "I was his last brother, and I left him alone. I failed—"

Ace's voice broke and he put his face in his hands, mug and Marco forgotten. "I'm worthless, dammit! I couldn't even keep my little brother safe and happy! Worthless! Completely! Fucking! Worthless!"

Silence flooded the room in the wake of Ace's words, but this time it was a different kind of silence; it waited, not for interruption, but for resolution. The sounds of the Moby Dick did nothing to chase it away.

After almost two full minutes, Marco let out a heavy sigh. Then he reached across the narrow table and pulled one of Ace's hands away from his face, forcing the younger man to look at him. If Marco was fazed at all by the tears streaking down Ace's face, he didn't show it.

"You're not worthless," Marco said, and though his voice wasn't loud it carried weight. "You're my brother, Ace. I would trust you with my life; anyone on this ship would. You're the second division commander; when we fight, your men look to you for guidance, and you give it. You're one of the smartest fighters I've seen in years; you protect your men with all your power."

"But Luffy—" Ace managed, using his free hand to wipe away his tears and only succeeding in smearing them across his face.

"Luffy would understand," Marco said quietly. "I don't know what went on in that nightmare; I can't even pretend to understand. But if your brother is anything like you, if he's anything like the man you've painted him to be, then he would understand. He may not understand immediately, but that's just the way things are. He'll understand."

Ace choked back a sob, looking at Marco with watering eyes and a heart so close to bursting it physically pained him. Then his memories overwhelmed him and he began truly crying, putting his head down on the table. His body shook with muffled sobs.

Marco didn't hesitate. He moved his chair next to Ace's and rubbed soothing circles on the man's back, stoically looked at the far wall.

"You're not worthless," Marco murmured. "You're my brother, and Thatch's brother, and Luffy's brother; you're family, Ace. We care about you, no matter what happens or what has happened. That was set in stone the moment you accepted Oyaji's mark, and even before that.

"You may not believe it, but you're worth something to everyone on this ship. Don't forget that."

The rain continued to fall outside, the quiet drumming providing a sort of white noise while Ace tried and failed to reign in his mourning.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Marco had to leave eventually. He didn't say anything when he left, instead giving Ace one last pat on the back before silently moving his chair back to where it had been before and heading out the door. Ace listened to his footsteps for as long as he could before those were swallowed up by other sounds.

Still he did not lift his head from where it was pillowed on his arms. He could feel tears leaking from his eyes and let them fall, knowing by now that trying to stop them was pointless.

They were tears for more than just himself and all he had lost; they were for Luffy, a younger brother who cared too much and who was willing to sacrifice everything just for his older brother; they were for Whitebeard, the greatest captain who came to Marineford and lost so many of his sons just for Ace; they were for Marco, Ace's first friend on the Moby Dick and who gave everything he had to save Ace and still saw him fall; they were for Thatch, Ace's second and closest friend on the Moby Dick who lost his life to another man's greed; they were for Garp, a heavy-handed marine who lost two grandsons to piracy and one of those to the marines he fought for; and they were for everyone who cared about him— _loved him_ , even—despite the fact that he was the son of Gol D. Roger and didn't rightfully deserve it.

It took him a long while to stop crying, and when he finally did he still sat there, staring blankly at the far wall. He felt exhausted, far more so than he had any right to be. His mouth was dry, he was hungry, and a headache was pounding behind his eyes at a tempo that made him dizzy.

Even so, he felt better. Not good, but better.

At first, Ace simply stared at his hands, resting on the table. He flexed them, noting every muscle that moved under his skin, the way that skin flexed to accommodate, and the way his knuckles grew more pronounced. He studied the veins that ran through the backs of his hands, prominent from a life of hard work. He examined his nails, recently cut but a few of them chipped already.

Then he turned his fingers to flame and studied them anew, making sure to keep them away from the flammable table beneath. He watched the flames flicker and dance, the light playing across the table and his body, highlighting scars both old and new.

He blinked, and his hands returned to normal.

Once he felt that he could trust his balance, Ace got to his feet, bracing himself against the table while the blood rushed to his head. He grit his teeth against the headache still pulsing in his head and staggered over to the counters, eventually managing to get a large glass of water. He drank it all in one gulp and then repeated the action several times until his thirst finally faded. Then he drank a few more gulps to be safe, cleaned the cup, and grabbed a water bottle to take with him.

He carefully emerged from the kitchen, thankful that no one seemed to be in that part of the ship at that hour. It took Ace several minutes of shuffling while leaning against the wall to reach his room—his wounds were aching, and no matter how hard he tried the blurriness in his vision wouldn't go away for more than a few seconds at a time.

But he managed, and collapsed into his bed. The water bottle fell to the floor and rolled, eventually thumping against the far wall.

Outside, the rain, after over a day of constant pouring, slowly began to let up.

* * *

 _A/N Apologies if Ace seems OOC. Luffy seems to be one of the centers of Ace's existence (judging from their childhood together, at least), and Ace wants to protect Luffy more than anything. Being the cause of Luffy's pain would be one of the worst experiences for Ace, because it's the exact opposite of what he wants. That's what I believe, anyway._

 _Reviews:_

 _poemado: You asked for nightmare fluff in one of your earlier reviews. Well, here you go!_

 _Frostyfall: The chapters are shorter than most of my other stories' (one has 8-10 thousand words per chapter, compared to the 2-4 thousand on this story), so it's easier to manage. Plus, inspiration keeps slapping me in the face. It helps that I've already written the last chapter, since it gives me a goal to work to. I'm glad my writing doesn't suck!_

 _Reviews are awesome. I'd love to see more of them._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	8. Chapter 8

_Wow. That was . . . a lot more reviews than I was expecting for last chapter. Thank you for the feedback! Sorry for the delay; I've been finishing up_ Brotherly Bonds _._

* * *

Chapter 8

 _May 2nd, 1522_

"I didn't know you were into fishing."

Ace glanced down at Thatch from where he was sitting on the railing. He held a fishing pole in one hand and a sandwich in the other. Ace finished chewing and swallowed before answering.

"Well, not usually, but I've got some time to kill so I figured I'd give it a shot."

"Time to kill?" Thatch repeated, hauling himself up onto the railing as well and taking a casual seat next to Ace. "What for?"

Ace glanced at Thatch, raising one eyebrow. "We're going shopping at that island, remember? I can't really start anything in the meantime and I finished fixing my hat hours ago. Now what was that island called . . . Turabara? No, that's not it . . ."

"Toraburu Island," Thatch supplied, grinning indulgently at Ace's rather spotty memory. Then he sighed. "We should've been there days ago. Now our food stores are running low."

Ace snorted and ignored Thatch's pointed stare. "Yeah, but those guys that tried to challenge Oyaji were so funny when they were running away."

"But three days in a row!"

"Yeah, that was just stupid."

"Coming from the guy that did it for over a hundred days in a row."

Ace's face reddened, but he was saved from replying when his line jerked. He quickly finished his sandwich and put both hands on the pole as the line jerked again, nearly sending him over the side of the ship. "Gah!"

Thatch hurriedly grabbed Ace to make sure that he wouldn't fall over the side, and then the both of them began a tug-of-war against whatever manner of creature had gotten hooked on the end of Ace's line.

"The hell were you fishing for, Ace?" Thatch demanded, straining.

"The hell if I know!" Ace shot back, his face set in a grimace as he yanked on the line. After a minute—two, three—of valiant pulling (which looked rather strange, if the confused yet amused stares of passing crewmembers were anything to go by), Ace put all his physical strength into a final pull and heaved with all his might.

He tumbled backward over the railing, but not before a sea king, easily a quarter of the length of the Moby Dick and thicker than the main mast by a large margin, went flying into the air, its jaws still clamped firmly around Ace's fishing line.

Thatch and Ace both stared at it for a moment, dumbstruck. Then—

"Marco is gonna kill you if that breaks the ship," Thatch remarked, looking surprisingly calm given the situation.

"Kiel will help him," Ace added.

They shared a look. And then they acted.

Ace jumped into the air and kicked the overgrown fish, sending it higher and keeping it from slamming into the deck. Thatch jumped up as well, one of his swords held ready. In a blur of motion, he sliced up the sea king at a speed so fast that even Ace had difficulty keeping an eye on the flashing blade. Once that was done, Ace took his cue and combusted, keeping the flames carefully contained and cooking the fish in mid-air, making sure to listen to Thatch's directions.

Thatch kept the pieces aloft until Ace was done, and then conjured two plates out of nowhere (or he got them from a flustered cook that had been watching with no small amount of alarm), sheathing his sword and then catching the meat on the plates before setting them down with a flourish and a grin. He earned a smattering of applause from the pirates that had been watching.

Behind him, Ace crashed onto the deck face-first, having had to transform back to normal after nearly setting a sail on fire. It had been an awkward fall and he had never had the chance to recover his balance. He earned widespread laughter for his efforts.

The hungry pirates were quick to take advantage of the impromptu buffet.

"Here you are, random buffet food is free," Thatch said, keeping up a steady babble to anyone who got close. "Yes, it's sea king, yes, it's fresh, no, it's probably not poisoned. You, sir, possess a hairstyle that is an affront to my honor as a chef and therefore must pay a total of ten thousand—"

"Can it, Thatch," Marco said irritably, though he was smiling. His attention turned to Ace. "Care to explain why there are suddenly stacks of meat on the deck that I just had cleaned not an hour ago?"

"To be fair, they're on plates," Thatch said, but his words went unheeded.

"I was fishing," Ace said simply. "And I caught a sea king."

"You caught a sea king," Marco repeated, unfazed. "And why didn't you just let it go instead of risking a mast or two, yoi?"

"I didn't realize it was a sea king until I pulled it out of the water."

"Of course you didn't. Well, whatever. You only scorched a few planks. Talk to Kiel about repairing the side of the ship, too."

"The side of the ship? What's wrong with that?"

Marco gave Ace a long look. "When you yanked the sea king up here, it was thrashing, yoi. It hit the side of the ship."

Ace blanched. "My bad. I'll fix it right away. Sorry."

"Don't worry," Marco said easily. "It's just coming out of your division's budget."

"But Shia and Tallie were going to be in charge of decorating for whatever that thing is that's coming up!"

Marco just grinned slightly and Ace sighed, knowing when he'd lost. Sullen, he walked off to find Kiel.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"And I'm just working, right, and suddenly the whole ship starts shakin' and I'm getting worried and then this _huge_ sea monster comes flying out of the ocean like a bat out of hell and of course _I'm_ startled witless so I can't stop its tail from whacking the side of Moby Dick and that's where we are now, which reminds me of another time when—"

"I got it, thanks," Ace interrupted, his smile practically plastered on his face. Kiel, a guy with mousy looks but muscles to rival Whitebeard's, didn't appear to be a talker at first, but Ace had found out rather quickly that the guy didn't. Shut. Up. Normally, Ace wouldn't mind, but Marco had been very clear that the ship should be fixed sooner rather than later and Ace didn't want to push his luck. "Could you give me directions about how to fix the ship?"

"Directions? Ha! As if fixing a ship could be done by follow directions! Why, this reminds me of the time some upstart brat tried to reel in a sea king and ended up crashing it into the side of the ship in the process—"

"That was today." Ace absently toyed with the strap of his hat and the odd skull attached to it. "Can you . . . can you help me fix the ship?"

"OF COURSE I CAN. DO YOU THINK I'M A SHIPWRIGHT FOR NOTHING? HUH? DO YOU?"

"You're shouting again," a passing crewmember called.

"Oh," Kiel said, returning to normal volume. "Sorry."

"It's not a problem," Ace said, absently wondering when the ringing in his ears would go away.

In the end, it took Ace only two hours to patch up the side of the ship under Kiel's _careful_ guidance. It could have gone faster, but Thatch had dropped by, and Ace couldn't bring himself to ignore his friend. When he was finally done, he went back up to the deck, narrowly avoiding getting trapped in another conversation with Kiel.

The guy was nice. Hell, he'd taught Ace more about Striker and shipbuilding in general than Ace had ever expected to know, and he'd done it for _free_. But sometimes Ace couldn't find it in himself to keep his impatience in check.

So Ace breathed a sigh of relief when he made it back on deck, only to turn and see Marco smirking at him. Ace noted a substantial lack of sea king meat on the deck and groaned.

"You gave it all away? And please don't ask about Kiel. I've heard enough stories of disasters in shipyards to last a lifetime."

"I won't, and of course not. Thatch insisted on saving some for you."

"How much?"

"You'll have to ask him."

"Fine, then. Anyway, I have a question."

Marco raised an eyebrow. "What, yoi?"

"Can I see your wings?"

Marco's eyes narrowed. "Why would you want to see those?"

Ace fidgeted and avoided looking Marco in the eye. "I've been practicing something. It's . . . a side-project. And to help me practice control. And stuff."

"Is it using your Devil Fruit?"

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"I'm not showing you until it's done."

"I'm not just going to randomly show my wings."

"C'mon, Marco. Please? I fixed the ship!"

"You broke it in the first place."

Ace scoffed. "I didn't _break_ it. This ship wouldn't break easily. I just . . . scratched it. Yeah. I scratched it."

"With a fish big enough to take out two masts and crush several people at once with little to no effort."

"It worked out, didn't it? We got more food."

The first division commander heaved a sigh, glancing at the figure of Whitebeard, seated in his chair some distance away. "Just once, Ace."

Ace grinned and followed Marco below decks to Marco's rooms. The Phoenix then shut the door, turned to Ace, and brought his arms up. In a flash of blue fire, they became great wings, nearly large enough to brush both sides of the room even when slightly folded.

They glowed with light, blue and yellow and orange flames flickering and chasing away some shadows while creating new ones. They danced together, creating hypnotic patters that quickly shaped into feathers. Marco watched warily as Ace reached out a hand and—with surprising gentleness—brushed the feathers.

"Soft," he murmured. It was the only thing he said the entire time, and he finished examining the wings within a minute.

When Marco returned his arms to normal, Ace merely thanked him and left, giving no explanation for his actions.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"I don't know what I'm doing," Ace admitted, stepping to the side of the wide street so he wouldn't be in the way. He and Thatch were in Mina, the port town on Toraburu Island. Thatch glanced at his fellow commander, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know what you don't know," he said easily. "What, you never been shopping before?"

Ace waved a hand. "Many times. These shorts, belt, new boots, supplies, stuff like that. But . . ."

"Never a suit?" Thatch asked knowingly. "I see your problem. Luckily for you, I happen to be the ship's foremost expert on suits and all manner of formal apparel."

Ace felt his hopes rise, but then he remembered Thatch's character and gave the chef a healthy dose of disbelief. "Really?"

Thatch looked offended for a few minutes and then sighed. "No, not really. I'm pretty sure Takashido could give me a run for my money—"

"More than that," Ace interrupted. "Isn't he the guy that's always wearing a suit no matter what?"

"Yup," Thatch affirmed, sighing as though remembering fond memories. "One time, we were raiding this marine base—they'd hurt one of our brothers, and that's just no good—and the whole place is burning, hot enough to make even Marco sweat, and Taka's just standing there without a care in the world, dressed _in a suit_. To this day I'm not sure how he managed it."

"Fireproof clothing?"

Thatch opened his mouth to refute that idea and then paused. "Actually, Ace, you might be right." A dangerous light sparked in his eyes. "I'll have to test that."

"Please keep me out of it when you do."

"No promises. Anyway, we're getting of topic. I am perfectly qualified to help you pick out a suit and tie combo that will send the ladies flying into your arms."

Ace snorted. "Not interested in something like that."

"Don't like ladies?"

"That's not it," Ace demurred, tilting his head back to look at the sky. "There are some that—" his face went bright red, "you know, look nice, but I've got other things to focus on right now."

"What about when you settle down?" Thatch asked, nudging Ace suggestively. "Or if you find a lady worthy of you on the seas?"

Ace gave Thatch a look that could have melted iron. "I'm not tying myself down."

And that was that.

Not letting the awkward silence develop, Thatch snagged Ace by the arm and led him to a shop he'd been eyeing for a few seconds. He barged in without a care for the wrecked storefront or the slightly irritated look of the rather pompous man behind the counter.

It was a small shop, but it was full of suits. Some decorated mannequins arranged in some artful poses, and other mannequins that were in poses so odd that Ace was sure he'd tear something at the very least trying to mimic them. He didn't understand why someone would ever arrange a human-shaped figure like that. For all that, the shop was cozy, and smelled of cloth and polish.

"Good day, sir!" Thatch called, a jovial grin on his face. He set Ace to one side, and then walked up to the counter like he owned the place. Even so, Thatch managed to convey just the right amount of deference to the shopkeeper, enough so that it didn't make Thatch seem like a threat or too arrogant a man. "My friend and I would like suits."

The shopkeeper's gaze darted between Thatch—still smiling and looking about as genteel as a pirate can look—and Ace, who was glowering in the corner at nothing in particular, a scowl deep enough to drown someone in planted firmly on his face. Deciding that humoring Thatch was the best option, the shopkeeper nodded slowly.

"Would you be needing two suits, sir?"

"Ah, call me Thatch," said Thatch, grinning wider. "And yes, two would be great."

"Do you have any styles in mind?"

"Nothing fancy," Thatch said, glancing at Ace and suppressing a sigh when he saw that Ace had managed to fall asleep while standing up. "Something . . . simple, but not boring."

"It would be hard to find a suit that could be called boring with gentlemen like yourselves," the shopkeeper said. Then he went white, one hand scrabbling desperately for something—a stress ball. "My apologies. I should not have—"

"It's fine. My companion and I will wait here and see if we can find anything to our liking."

Eyeing the unconscious Ace, the shopkeeper nodded slowly. "I suppose you will." Then he went to the back of the shop, presumably to find any other styles of suit that Thatch would find interesting.

Somehow, Ace managed to sleep through the entirety of the time it took Thatch to pick a suit and get his measurements. When he woke up, however, Thatch immediately bombarded him with several different suit choices. Ace, never one for shopping or even paying remote attention to his clothes (he'd gone years without wearing a shirt, to put everything into perspective), merely picked the simplest, most practical suit he saw. Then he was also swept up in a whirlwind of measurements and rapid-fire questions from the shopkeeper, and by the time he was finished Ace's head was spinning.

Thatch guided him out of the store, still grinning. "Weren't expecting that, now were you?"

"Not at all," Ace admitted. "I've never gotten a suit before."

"You'll love it," Thatch assured. "I've even got them sewing on Oyaji's mark on the breast pocket. It looks awesome."

Ace shot Thatch a dubious look. "For some reason, I still don't trust you."

"Oh, ye of little faith," Thatch muttered. "You'll see in a few days. In the meantime, we get to hang out on this island. There's supposed to be a good bar up the street—I forget the name—and it's where Marco's meeting us. You up for some drinking?"

Ace made a face. "I've never been a massive fan. I don't mind the taste, but—" he made a vague gesture at his body. "Can't get drunk. Or even buzzed."

"You poor boy," Thatch said. Then he shrugged. "Eh. Some people like it, some people don't. I'd bet you'd make a pretty terrifying drunk, anyway. Now hurry up; I don't want to miss the pool competition!"

". . . Pool?"

"Yeah. Billiards. You know, pool?"

"Why?"

"Because. Now stop dragging your feet."

Wondering what he'd gotten himself into, Ace followed Thatch through the streets of Mina.

* * *

 _A/N Lighthearted chapter just 'cause. Also, Ace should not go fishing without supervision. Anyway, Ace in a suit. Sounds interesting._

 _Reviews:_

 _Narya Anima: Teach is definitely there. He and Ace will be meeting each other at some point._

 _Vampirecat1191: I will write a chapter (at the end, so_ much, much later _) in which Ace meets Luffy (probably at Alabasta). There will probably be lots of brotherly shenanigans._

 _Nala1220: Yeah, I was worried that Ace would seem weak. I'm trying not to make him that way; he's stronger than he seems, I guess._

 _poemado: I can make no promises on that._

 _Houkiboshi59: Man, I hope I never write a complete sobfest. Eugh. That's a great way to get strong characters to seem completely OOC._

 _FireAngel24: I can't write Yaoi. I don't have a problem with it, I just suck at writing romance in general. Good luck with your writing!_

 _You guys were all supportive of the way I portrayed Ace last chapter, which I appreciate! It's nice to see that my writing ability has been improving with each new chapter._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	9. Chapter 9

_Who doesn't like parties? Especially pirate parties?_

* * *

Chapter 9

 _May 8th, 1522_

Ace pulled at the collar of his shirt for the tenth time in three minutes. He felt awkward, constricted. That wasn't to say that his clothes weren't comfortable; the tie wasn't too tight, the suit he wore fit him like a glove, and the material was soft, resting easily on his skin.

But it didn't feel _right_. After so long with his only clothing other than that on his lower half being the occasional cloak, scarf, or jacket, wearing a suit felt strange. He couldn't even wear his necklace, arm guard, or log pose. He felt rather lost without them, but Thatch had said that Ace would get used to it with time.

Thatch. The man had ditched Ace the moment they entered the mess hall. Ace had tried in vain to look for him, but the cook knew how to stay hidden. Even Observation Haki did nothing. Ace thought he would be easy to find; the man had a unique hairstyle, and he wasn't exactly short. Unfortunately, the Whitebeard Pirates were made up of such a mix of people that picking out one unique person among a crowd of unique people was proving to be extraordinarily difficult. And the mess hall was huge.

Had Ace mentioned that there were tons of people?

Not to mention that the mess hall wasn't even the familiar expanse full of tables and laughing pirates that Ace had navigated daily. No, it was the same room, but most of the tables were gone. Decorations lined the walls and a section of the floor had been replaced to permit dancing, while another part was raised as a kind of stage for a band hammering away what Ace was pretty sure was a drinking song.

They were pirates. They could dress nice, sure, but a pirate was a pirate. Drinking songs were a given.

At least his family looked happy. Ace took some solace in that; he would never forget their expressions when he'd left in pursuit of Teach, but seeing them happy dulled the pain of that particular memory more and more with each passing day.

Ace didn't see Teach. He didn't intend to look.

Officially, the celebration was the once-a-year party to celebrate . . . well, anything. Unofficially, it was an excuse to dress fancy for a group of people that usually wore whatever the hell was on hand. Ace was under the impression that the Whitebeard Pirates just didn't want to admit that they wanted to wear suits sometimes, too.

Ace caught a glimpse of Takashido and noted that the looked vaguely dumbfounded by the other men in suits around him. It was the same every year; he never expected anyone else to dress as nicely as him.

Even Whitebeard was dressed up, though finding anything that fit his massive size had been a challenge only a combination of Izo, Thatch, Marco, and Vista had been able to overcome. He kept his captain's jacket, of course, and remained seated, but there was a proud grin on his face as he looked over his family.

Ace fidgeted. He could see a buffet table off to one side, and the food layered on it looked delicious. The problem was, pairs of dancers and dangerous conversing pirates stood in the way, and there was no way Ace was going to sacrifice his dignity to stick to the wall and inch around them. He just had to weave through them, and he'd be fine.

He saw Thatch try to get to the buffet table, only to get whisked away by Haruta and Izo. He winced, seeing the helpless expression on the fourth division commander's face.

This was going to be more of a challenge than he originally thought.

Taking a deep breath and steeling his nerves, Ace began to walk forward, making sure to keep his body loose and ready to dodge anyone too eager to socialize. He avoided one, two, three conversations and literally ducked out of the way of Tasuka—was she already drunk?—only to nearly get run over by a definitely inebriated Kisha.

He found an isle of solace by a group of chatting pirates and stopped to catch his breath, already looking for the next safest route to the buffet table. His mind was in overdrive, every detail sharp and crystal clear. His breathing slowed and he took a step, then another, and another, until he was once again slipping between groups of people with all the ease of a fishman in water. He'd learned how to navigate crowded rooms from bandits; this was nothing.

A burst of raucous laughter nearly distracted him, but Ace managed to keep his wits in time to slip behind another pirate and avoid Marco, who Ace knew from his memories would be looking or him. There was a bet riding on whether Ace would dance and another on whether he would sing, and Ace was _not_ doing either of those tonight.

He was almost to the buffet table; it was just out of reach, and with a profound sense of relief Ace straightened and began to walk normally—

"There you are."

The shrimp suddenly seemed impossibly far away. Slowly, with trepidation coloring every movement, Ace looked up and met Marco's far-too-satisfied gaze.

"Hey," Ace said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. His eyes darted to the food on the table and he took a half step in that direction, only for Marco to cut him off.

"Hey," the other commander responded evenly. "Listen, Shia's been waiting by the dance floor for some respectable gentleman and so far no one's taken her up on it."

"Because she could paralyze them six ways to Sunday," Ace said, knowing that his chances of getting food were dropping to zero. "And I see what you're trying to do, Marco, and I'm not dancing."

Marco rolled his eyes, grabbing Ace before the boy could protest. "Yes, you are. Come on. Thatch had money riding on this."

"You mean, you and Thatch have money riding on this, and bet on opposite sides, so you're taking matters into your own hands."

"Yes," Marco answered without preamble. "That idiot bet way too much, and I'm still mad at him for lighting my desk on fire a week ago."

Ace smirked. "I remember that. It was funny."

"Only because you were leaving the room. Now go. Dance."

Marco gave Ace a hard shove that sent the second division commander staggering forward. He recovered his balance mere feet from Shia, who was dressed in a modest crimson dress with her hair done up in a braid. Her brown eyes glinted with amusement.

Ace got an annoying sense of déjà vu.

"Marco?" She guessed as Ace straightened.

"I think Thatch, using Marco," Ace clarified. Shia raised an eyebrow, automatically seeking the two commanders in the crowd.

"Really? How?"

Ace shrugged. "Not my problem. I'm just not dancing."

"You're going to leave me here?" Shia said, her lighthearted expression turning into a frown in a heartbeat. "Alone? With these idiots?" She jerked a thumb back at a group of pirates that were already drunk and calling out dancing invitations to Shia. She sighed. "They're nice when sober, but drunk . . . they're all left feet. It's horrible. Plus, I went to all the trouble of organizing this party and the dance floor; it would be a shame if it went to waste."

"I don't dance."

"Wonderful. Time to learn."

And then Ace was on the dance floor. Shia guided him through the dance—at some point, the music had switched to something more appropriate, and Ace suspected foul play—and he tried not to step on her feet. He'd always been coordinated, and he'd lied; Makino had briefly spent some time teaching him how to dance. His face burned at the memory, and Shia laughed at him.

"You're too sweet, Ace," she teased. "All anyone would have to do to beat you is send in a bunch of attractive women."

"That's not true," Ace replied automatically, getting his expression and voice under control. "When I'm fighting, I don't care who challenges me."

Shia's grin became genuine and she lightly punched him, simultaneously releasing him from the dance. "That's what I like to hear. Now go find the dumbass duo; I think I saw them giggling over your right shoulder a second ago."

"You were just dancing with me to find them?"

Shia shrugged innocently. "I don't know, was I?" Then she laughed at Ace's expression. "Oh, lighten up, kid. I do like the suit, though. It suits you."

Her grin remained as she swept up another crewmember and left Ace standing alone. The boy quickly swept his confusion under a mental rug and turned, searching the area Shia had described. He located a certain pompadour and gave chase, ducking and weaving through the crowd with twice the speed he had used before.

A flash of white, a hint of purple; Ace chased the two across the room, nearly tripping over his family more than a few times. Of course, the moment didn't last; he was almost caught up to Marco and Thatch when he collapsed, eyes sliding shut. He hit the floor, snoring away.

Distantly, he heard voices, and tried to hide his grin. He'd learned how to fake narcolepsy attacks a long time ago, and the practice was paying off.

"Aw, he fell." That voice was Thatch.

"He's asleep," Marco commented. Ace could tell he was kneeling. "Of all the times to get an attack . . . it's almost funny."

Ace heard a dramatic intake of breath. "Marco? Did you just call something _funny_? Oh, the world might be ending!"

"Shut up, you. At least I got him to dance."

"At _my_ insistence. Now we get to split the others' bets."

"If I were an honest man, I never would've agreed to this."

"Luckily, you're a pirate."

Ace's patience finally wore thin and he jumped up, quickly pinning Thatch to the floor and ignoring Marco, whom he deemed as an innocent bystander caught up in Thatch's nefarious machinations.

"At least you got me to dance?" Ace repeated lowly, his glare more than enough to keep Thatch in place. "I've half a mind to throw you off the side of the ship right now, Thatch."

"Hey, hey now," Thatch said, offering his best smile. "Let's not jump to conclusions. I thought you were asleep!"

"I wasn't."

"I see that now. I don't suppose we can discuss this without your flaming fist a foot from my face? It's making me sweat."

"Good."

"Right then." Thatch looked to Marco for help but found no support in his old friend. Thatch mouthed, "you suck", and then looked back at Ace. "I'm sorry for coercing you—indirectly, mind you—into dancing. It was a terrible thing to do and I regret it terribly. I hope that someday, when you have grandchildren, a loving wife, and happiness in your belly that you will find it in yourself to forgive me for my terrible cri—ow! Hey!"

Ace stood up, shaking out his fist. "Be happy I didn't set you on fire, you overdramatic idiot."

"Aw, I know you wouldn't."

Somehow, Ace resisted the urge to set Thatch's hair on fire. Straightening, he worked his jaw. It ached from hitting the floor, but some things were worth it.

"So," Ace said, turning to Marco. "I heard a suspicious rumor that you lot were trying to get me to sing, too." His smile was chilling. "Rest assured, that won't happen."

Marco remained unfazed. "We'll see, yoi."

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

 _"_ _Heave a pawl, oh, heave away,_

 _Way, ay, roll an' go!_

 _The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored,_

 _Timme rollickin' randy dandy O!"_

Ace finished the song, sucking in a deep breath when he was done and letting it out slowly. The other pirates that had joined him for the last chorus let out a few cheers and then went back to their own business.

Ace glared at Thatch, and then Marco. "I hate you, you know that, right?"

The fourth division commander grinned and tossed Ace a water bottle. "On the bright side, you're not a bad singer. You could probably make some money, actually."

Rolling his eyes, Ace took a big drink and hopped down from the stage, offering the members of the band a small wave. "I still can't believe you got me to sing. I'm never going to live this down."

"What, like that's a bad thing?"

Ace elected to ignore Thatch for the time being. Everyone was at least slightly buzzed at this point from the alcohol being passed around—everyone except Ace and Marco, of course, though Whitebeard probably wasn't feeling the effects of the alcohol at all yet—and it was obvious in the way some of them spoke and laughed more loudly, their gestures more open and expressions more animated than usual. Only two fights had broken out, and they'd been resolved quickly.

"So how much did you make?" Ace asked Thatch, resigned to the fact that, despite his best efforts, he'd somehow been roped into both singing _and_ dancing that night, just like the last time. Thatch grinned.

"Almost two thousand beri."

Marco looked impressed. "That's not bad. You might even be able to pay me off for that incident the other week. I still need a new desk, by the way."

Thatch opened his mouth to reply and then ducked behind a passing pirate, trying to use him as a shield. Unfortunately, that merely caused the pirate to stumble and drop his food—a delicious looking arrangement, in Ace's opinion—all over a different passing pirate.

"And here I was hoping we would avoid this," Marco sighed, already walking away. "Ace, good luck."

Ace blanched, his own memories of the event rising. He scrambled after Marco and almost wasn't fast enough; what looked like a potato flew through the air, barely missing Ace and hitting Izo instead. Feeling the tension in the room skyrocket, Ace ducked outside just as the food fight began in earnest. Marco stood a few feet away, watching the sky.

Ace glanced down at himself, wincing when he saw various bits of food had still hit him in the back. At least it was mostly collateral, he mused.

"This was a nice suit, too," Ace muttered, picking off some kind of bean. Marco raised an eyebrow, his purple tie loosened around his neck.

"You weren't fast enough."

"At least I didn't run out of the room. I have dignity."

Marco snorted. "Sure."

An ominous crash sounded from inside the room and Marco looked pained. "I'm going to have to find a way to pay for all the things they break," he said by way of explanation. "Looks like we're going to be doing more raids in the next few weeks."

Ace hummed agreement. He kind of wanted to go back inside; food fights were fun, after all, and it had been a while since he'd been in one.

But then familiar, strange warmth filled his head when he took a step, and the last thing he was aware of was Marco's hand stopping him from slamming onto the deck. Then he succumbed to darkness and blissful silence.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace groaned, blinking his eyes open until he could see a familiar wooden ceiling. He was in his room, then. Rolling over, he saw Marco standing near the doorway, arms crossed but an amused expression on his face. Ace noted that Marco had changed out of the suit he'd been wearing and was back to his usual attire.

"How long was I out this time?" Ace asked, sitting up. He tried to ignore the irony; he'd faked an attack, only to get a real one soon after.

"Only a few minutes," Marco replied. "Thatch told me that it'd be best if you changed out of your suit, however. Apparently the food fight somehow devolved into a water balloon contest."

"Ah. Give me a second." Marco casually looked away while Ace cursed his way out of the suit and pulled on his far more comfortable normal clothes. "Much better. Wearing a shirt sucks."

"I'm not going to argue that point. By the way, your room's 'safe zone' status wears off in about thirty seconds."

Ace froze. "Where are the water balloons stored, and are they seawater?"

"Three places; in the kitchen, on the figurehead, and by Oyaji's chair, and yes, but they're not very big so Devil Fruit users don't have to worry. It's division against division; from what I heard, yours is waiting in the third sleeping quarters."

"Thanks, Marco!" Ace said, jumping to his feet and exiting to room. Only his quick reflexes saved him from being pelted by water balloons immediately and Ace dove around the first corner he reached before going into a headlong sprint, memory guiding his footsteps while instinct prevented him from being hit. Never had he been happier that he'd learned Observation Haki.

He found his division with little difficulty; they'd managed to secure a cooler of water balloons and were awaiting his orders. Grinning, Ace pulled out a water balloon.

"Let's go kick their asses!" He declared. It was all he had to say; the pirates left the room in a roaring mass, descending upon the other divisions with brutal efficiency.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

By the end of the night, thirty-three people had fallen overboard, two had fallen from the masts, five got tangled up in ropes and cords, one was missing somewhere below decks, and ten people reported symptoms of deep shock. Someone even had a broken bone, but was currently being celebrated as a hero of his division for his sacrifices.

Ace declared it a victory on all counts, and then pelted Thatch in the face with the water balloon he'd been saving since the beginning.

* * *

 _A/N For the song that Ace sings (called Randy Dandy O), go to brethrencoast dot com slash Sea_Shanties . html (remove the spaces, replace dot com and slash). It should start playing automatically. I think it's a pretty cool-sounding song._

 _Reviews:_

 _Chamsin: That may be the case. I've never really thought about it that way._

 _Nala1220: He already knows flying, in a way; he won't be doing it using wings, just the usual fire. It's briefly shown in his episode in the anime (can't remember the number at the moment; it was 400-something)._

 _Reviews are awesome; feedback is awesome. You guys are awesome._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	10. Chapter 10

_You should check out my other stories._

* * *

Chapter 10

Ace let out a deep breath, stepping away from the weights he'd been lifting. Sweat practically dripped down his skin and he felt a dull soreness in his muscles, a sign that he'd gone too long without serious training. This session had gone well, however, and Ace was confident that he wasn't in any danger of getting out of shape.

He ran through his cool down, ending with a long series of stretches that his muscles protested. Ignoring them, Ace exhaled and stretched even more.

Just as he finished, the door opened to admit another crewmember. Ace saw him pause.

"Am I interrupting? I can—"

"No, it's fine," Ace said, waving him off. He grabbed his water bottle and took a drink, downing almost a third of it in one go. "I'm finished, anyway. The place is all yours."

"Thanks."

Ace left the training room feeling considerably better than he had before—he'd never been a fan of waking up before the sun did, and he deeply resented the pirates that had tried to challenge them so early in the morning—and he waved to the man currently on watch. He then climbed onto the Moby Dick's figurehead, a habit he'd developed at some point.

The ocean breeze went a long way to cooling him down and Ace let out a deep, contented sigh, tilting his head back and staring at the clear blue sky. There wasn't a cloud in sight.

He sat like that for several minutes, eventually lying down on his back. At some point, he drifted off, though for once it wasn't his narcolepsy. He woke up less than an hour later, stiff and sore. Cursing, Ace made his way back to his room and stretched again, knowing that it could have been worse. Then, deciding he might as well try it now, Ace sat down in the middle of his room, making sure that there was no furniture in the way.

Then he took a deep breath and concentrated. With painful slowness, fire began building from his back, near his shoulder blades, forming two indistinct shapes. The shapes shifted with the flames that made them, and Ace's expression became tighter. The flames danced but listened to Ace's will, gradually forming the shapes that Ace desired.

Sweat formed on Ace's brow but he paid it no mind, instead focusing on the task at hand. The temperature of the room went up slightly, but Ace kept his fire carefully contained and burning at the lowest temperature possible. It took him well over a minute to just get the general form he wanted, and when he tried to do the detail all at once a headache began to pound behind his eyes. Recognizing the sign, Ace opened his eyes and released his concentration. The fire dissipated into the air.

Sighing, Ace fell back onto the floor, a frown on his face while he stared at the ceiling.

He'd been experimenting with his powers for a long time, beginning from when he got them. When Whitebeard had proven to be a challenge to kill, Ace had gotten even more creative. That was where Hotarubi: Hidaruma came from, a move he was personally proud of. After all, creating seemingly innocent green balls of light that exploded on command was pretty creative, right?

It required control, but Ace had practiced it until he could do it at will. He could even make the lights disappear without detonating them at all.

But he wanted to practice his control. He wanted to test the limits of what he was capable of creating with his fire; he already knew he could light things at a distance, create lights, and basically just set shit on fire, but he wanted to know if he could _create_. Hence what he was doing now.

The problem was that it was proving to be a lot harder than Ace had first thought. He'd made progress, though, and now he could almost get through the details before a splitting headache forced him to stop. It didn't tire him out too much, though, which was good.

The practice he got from just trying to do this one task was showing in his other moves; his control had improved in leaps and bounds and he found that he could create even more lights, even more fire. It was almost like stamina training.

He blew out a breath, thankful that his headache had already gone away. After another few seconds of staring at the ceiling, Ace got to his feet, grabbed a change of clothes, and went to take a shower.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Hair still wet and dripping down his back, Ace walked back into his room and began fiddling with one of the gadgets he'd picked up at one island or another. It was a habit he'd picked up from the Gray Terminal; when he saw something cool, he got it. It had taken more time than he cared to admit to get a handle on what he figured was an extremely mild form of kleptomania.

Now, he just tinkered with whatever he happened to get his hands on. This time, it was a clock, but Ace couldn't remember whether he'd been taking it apart or putting it back together. Shrugging, he began to disassemble it again, figuring that the practice wouldn't hurt.

After water dripped onto the project for the fourth time, Ace got frustrated and set his hair on fire for a few seconds, idly watching the steam shoot into the air. When he was done, his hair was wonderfully dry. Feeling much more accomplished, Ace turned back to his fiddling.

He was so focused on working on the clock that he didn't notice Thatch approaching until the door opened.

"Hey, Ace!" The commander said, waving. Ace cursed as his hand twitched, causing the piece he'd been carefully removing to fall into the depths of the clock. After eyeing the thing hatefully for a moment, Ace cleared his expression and turned to Thatch.

"Hey. What's up?"

"Nothing, really," Thatch admitted, closing the door behind him as he stepped into the room. "Just talking with people around the ship."

Ace gave his friend a flat look. "Marco's looking for you, isn't he?"

Thatch huffed. "Maybe."

"What did you do?"

"Hid his bed."

Ace blinked. "You . . . you did what? How?"

"A big mirror," Thatch said, grinning. "Well, several mirrors. Got them custom-made a while back and was storing it in preparation for this moment. The birdbrain didn't even realize what was going on until he accidentally shattered them."

"Oh, he could've have been happy about that."

"That's kind of why he's on the warpath right now."

"You're going to have to leave here eventually," Ace pointed out. Thatch shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Well, I'm hoping he'll cool off by then. If not, I'll survive."

Ace quirked an eyebrow but decided to let it go. "Fine. You can hang out in here for now."

Thatch pumped a fist. "Thanks! I just—"

Angry footsteps interrupted Thatch and he froze, the blood draining from his face all at once.

"Marco," he whispered.

Ace decided to take pity on Thatch just this once. "Far wall. Third panel from right."

Thatch shot Ace a grateful look and carefully slid into the small space behind the loose plank. Ace put it back into place and was returning to his project when a knock sounded at his door. It was perfectly controlled, not the angry banging that Ace had half-expected. Then again, this was Marco, so he really shouldn't have expected obvious anger in the first place.

"One second," Ace said. He quickly checked to make sure that Thatch was well and truly hidden before he opened the door. Marco was there, his purple shirt torn in a few places. He looked . . . calm. Too calm. Worryingly calm. "What happened to you?"

Marco, his expression unreadable, eyed Ace. "Thatch."

"What did he do this time?"

"You're better off not knowing," Marco said shortly. "Have you seen him? I have a few things I want to say to him."

After briefly debating the merits of revealing that Thatch was in his walls, Ace shook his head. "No, can't say I've seen him. I heard someone running outside a minute ago, if that helps. He probably figured that you'd check my room first."

Marco frowned slightly. "I guess you're right. If you see him, send him to . . . the mess hall. Don't tell him I was here."

"Got it."

Ace slowly shut the door, letting out a deep breath but making sure to keep his expression normal until Marco's footsteps faded out of his range of hearing. Then he looked to the wall.

"You can come out now, Thatch. Marco's gone."

"Oh, thank god," Thatch said, pushing the panel out of the wall and hurriedly stepping out. He fixed the wall and then adjusted his hair, not seeming to care about the few patches of dust that had accumulated on his clothes. "That's a neat little space you've got there, by the way. I'm a little jealous."

"You'd be impressed what you discover when you're being hurtled throughout the ship," Ace said.

"Care to share?"

"Not happening. There's a reason Marco usually doesn't catch me when I get caught in your pranks, and knowing you, you'd tell him."

"You wound me, sir."

"Not as much as Marco will when he catches you."

Thatch snorted. "I've got an hour or two before he swings by here again. He's got a pattern he follows when he's searching for me; took me months to figure it out, though."

"That's why you came here first?"

"Yup. Figured you'd help a friend in need."

"And if I didn't?"

"I'd be in trouble."

Ace rolled his eyes. "You know, one of these times your faith in me is going to be misplaced."

"Ah, don't say that," Thatch said. "Anyway, I've got a question for you. Been bugging me for days now."

"You? Holding in a question for days? Should I be worried?"

"Don't be a smartass. Listen, you know how you do your whole spontaneous combustion thing?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't your clothes light on fire? Where do they _go_?"

Ace blinked. "They turn into flames."

"How? I thought only your body does that!"

"It includes clothing. Backpacks, too."

"What, so you can turn anything into fire?"

Ace shook his head, frowning. "I've never actually tried . . . but I don't think so. It's not something I really control; it's—I just _know_ whether it's gonna work or not. Instinct, maybe? Like, I can carry my backpack and wear my clothes and necklace and stuff and I can use my powers at will, but if I'm dragging a barrel of gunpowder behind me I can't change that into flames. It'll just blow up in my face."

Thatch now looked genuinely interested. "I was asking it as a joke, but if it's actually like that—" he pulled a coin from his pocket and flicked it at Ace, who snatched it out of the air—"then see if you can turn that into flames. It's small, you're carrying it, so it should work, right?"

"I guess," Ace muttered, looking somewhat dubious. He looked at the coin in his hand and concentrated, his brows furrowing. After a few seconds, his hand turned to flame.

The coin dropped to the floor, making a light clattering noise when it landed. Thatch automatically picked it up, wincing slightly as the heated metal touched his skin. It wasn't too hot, however, and he examined it critically.

"Well, that was disappointing."

"Couldn't get it to work," Ace said with a shrug. "Like I said, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I got the feeling it wouldn't."

"Still worth a shot. Is there anything else you can do that you haven't decided to explicitly mention?"

"Nothing you haven't seen," Ace said, turning back to his clock. Thatch stared at him before pulling up the only stool in Ace's room and sitting down. "What now?"

"I know you're hiding something. You've been spending a lot more time in your room lately, and I'm curious. What're you doing in here? Unless it's something you don't feel comfortable sharing with little ol' me, of course."

Ace's face went red but he kept working on the clock. "Shut up. It's nothing like that."

"Ha! So it's _something_! What is it? A new move?"

"Not really," Ace muttered, carefully working at one screw that had been stuck for a good three days. If he twisted too hard, the wood around the screw could splinter, and that would just suck. "Something better."

"Oh, really?" Thatch leaned closer, forcing Ace to abandon his attempts at the screw. "Like what?" His expression lit up. "Wait! You were bugging Marco to see his wings a few times; I remember hearing you two bickering like an old married couple—"

"Hey!"

"—which was hilarious, by the way, but what were you asking for? Unless, of course, you wanted to _replicate_ his wings!" Thatch eyed Ace, grinning widely. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Ace rolled his eyes. "Not even close. Nice try, though."

Thatch's expression dropped and he let out a heavy sigh. "Really? I was so sure, too . . ." He trailed off hopefully, giving Ace a puppy-dog look. The younger commander's eye twitched in annoyance, but he stoically held out for all of thirty seconds.

"Fine! Alright! I'll tell you, jeez, just stop giving me that look! You're at least twice my age!"

"And twice as good-looking," Thatch added. "Don't forget that."

"Narcissist," Ace quipped, standing up. "You might want to stand over by the door. This takes up a bit of space, and I haven't quite finished it yet."

"Don't leave me hanging, buddy."

Ace sat down in the middle of the floor, crossing his legs and taking a few deep breaths. After regulating his breathing, he began to focus, building his flames upon his back and adding to the fire with delicacy and care. It was different with an audience; Ace, strangely, felt more relaxed with Thatch in the room. He wasn't trying to prove anything, and Thatch was—whether he knew it or not—providing a kind of moral support. It was . . . nice.

After a full minute, Ace unfurled the fire constructs, his expression tightening in concentration. The wings were less than a foot away from each wall on either side and burned brightly, hues of red, orange, yellow, and even a few tongues of blue and white mixing together to form a breathtaking display.

Forehead beading with sweat, Ace began to shape the flames, gradually creating feathers within the fire. For once, there was no headache pounding behind his eyes, and a confident smile slipped onto his face. Two minutes later, Ace knew he was done, and opened his eyes.

Thatch whistled when he made eye contact with Ace. "You're almost scary, kid," he said. "I've never seen anything like this; how the hell did you figure it out? Actually, don't answer that, it'll ruin the moment. Just . . . wow." He grinned, scratching the back of his neck. "I really don't have any words for it. It's damned impressive."

Ace thanked his friend for the praise and then glanced to one side, wondering for himself what the wings looked like. He'd never checked before.

He nearly did a double take; the wings were exactly as he pictured them, if a little less distinct, and each one was more than ten feet long. They were bent slightly to avoid scorching the walls, and flickered with surprisingly soft light. It was almost hypnotic, and Ace had to tear his gaze away. The grin still hadn't left his face, and he felt like whooping with triumph. It had taken him almost two weeks, but he'd finally done it. He'd made wings.

They weren't functional, of course. All they did was look kickass, which was fine on its own. After checking with Thatch that things—like the temperature in the room—were still fine, Ace carefully got to his feet, mindful of his new (temporary) appendages. Unconsciously biting his lip, Ace began to fold the wings in, unknown instincts guiding the fire. After almost a full minute, Ace had wrapped himself in what was essentially a fiery, feathery blanket that would burn anyone else alive.

"Now that," Thatch said, "is cool. I'm almost jealous; it's like a cloak!"

"Almost?" Ace asked, his smile going even wider. Luffy would definitely find this awesome; Ace would have to show him next time they saw each other. His smile dipped a little when he remembered that that wasn't until Alabasta, but he could wait. He'd manage it somehow.

"You know me," Thatch said with a shrug. "Can't admit I actually _am_ jealous. Devil Fruits aren't really my thing."

A chill ran through Ace and like a match going out his wings vanished, thin licks of flame dancing in the air before they too went out. Ace staggered, suddenly exhausted, but Thatch was there, catching him.

"Whoa, whoa, you okay? Ace? Talk to me."

"'m fine," Ace slurred, blinking to clear his vision. "Tired."

"Wait here," Thatch ordered. "I'll get you some food."

"Marco," Ace managed. Thatch froze for a moment, then shrugged. "He should be checking the crow's nest right now. It'll be fine."

He left, only to return a few minutes later with a few plates loaded with food. "Here you go. Eat up."

Revitalized slightly by the sight and smell of the food, Ace found enough energy to scarf down whatever he could get his hands on. Thatch watched with a bemused expression and then expertly cleared the plates away.

"Better?"

"Much," Ace said, licking his fingers. "Thank you," he added politely, looking at Thatch. The cook laughed.

"Your manners never fail to throw me off. You're welcome."

"Oh, one thing," Ace said. "Don't tell Marco. Not yet—not until I can do it faster and better."

Thatch raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to one up our local phoenix?"

"Maybe. Promise?"

"Of course. Now, all I—"

" _Thatch_."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a good ten degrees. Ace's gaze skirted past Thatch to the doorway, where a _very_ annoyed Marco stood. Thatch gulped, suddenly pale. It didn't help when Marco cracked his knuckles.

"I should've known you were hiding him, Ace," Marco continued, and Ace felt ice slide down his back. "But I don't blame you. He can be _remarkably_ persistent when he wants to be."

"M-Marco," Thatch said, raising his hands in a "peace" gesture. The fourth division commander suddenly looked very small. "Let's talk about this, shall we? Like friends. We are friends, right? So let's just talk. Peacefully."

"Oh, we'll talk. Like friends. But not peacefully; I've got a few ruined shirts that are begging for revenge."

Ace went back to his clock as Marco dragged a shrieking Thatch out of the room.

* * *

 _A/N This is one of my favorite chapters. Ace, Thatch, and Marco are so adorable sometimes._

 _The_ _wings : No, they're not functional. No, they're not designed for combat. As explained in the chapter, they're really just there to look kickass. However, by practicing his control, Ace makes his other moves more powerful and concentrated, so yeah. If that makes sense. I hope it does. Plus, it just seemed like something Ace would try after seeing Marco's wings._

 _Reviews:_

 _Nala1220: I figured the flying thing was just that fire is essentially lighter than air (I think?) and that's why, and it functions as a kind of propulsion (somehow?). Teach's betrayal isn't for a while yet; there's a small arc leading up to it and stuff, which won't be taking place for at least a few chapters._

 _Guest: I didn't realize that. Whoops; I thought any seawater was enough to weaken DF users. My bad; I think I edited that bit to make it make more sense. Thanks!_

 _Trich: Knowing Ace, it'll involve fire._

 _Ashlielle: Really? 1522? Huh. Actually, I don't remember where I got 1555 (maybe I typo'd it the first time and just rolled with it; my bad), so you're probably right. I think I fixed it. Thank you for pointing that out!_

 _What's up next? Parties? Suits? Nope, already did that . . . what about . . . oh, this'll be fun. Anyway, actual plot will probably be starting up again in the next few chapters, don't worry._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	11. Chapter 11

_So tired. Sooooo tiiiired._

* * *

Chapter 11

Ace wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when Thatch came barreling into his room at top speed, but it wasn't getting something bright and _orange_ thrown at his face. He automatically picked it out of the air before it hit, instantly registering that it was cloth of some kind. Marco had done the same with his blue bundle, while Thatch was still grinning in the doorway. The resident phoenix looked unimpressed.

"Thatch, what's it this time?"

"This time? Marco, that hurts." Thatch grinned wider, holding up his own pastel yellow . . . _thing_. "Before you two get too anxious, I'll explain." He paused dramatically, waiting for the other two commanders to get impatient or demand answers. His expression changed to one of disappointment when neither Marco nor Ace so much as twitched. "What? Nothing?"

"I'm going to set this thing on fire if you don't hurry up?" Ace tried, holding up what he guessed was a shirt with a confused expression. Really, he was only doing it to satisfy Thatch.

"Thank you!" Thatch coughed, assuming a horrified expression. "No! Ace, you can't burn that shirt! I bought it for you myself! The same goes for you, Marco!"

"Hurry it up," Marco said dryly.

"Spoilsport. Fine. We're going to the beach, and I was kind enough to get you idiots some festive shirts to celebrate. It's international Dress Like a Tourist Day, after all."

"This is not something I'd wear," Ace said automatically, holding up the shirt and frowning at it. It was a subdued—for a tourist shirt, anyway—orange, with silhouettes of flowers and leaves in red while other leaves were outlined in red but colored in with yellow. Ace grimaced. "No. And international Dress Like a Tourist Day is not a thing, last I checked."

"C'mon, please?" Thatch said. "It's a nice shirt! And stop ruining my fun!"

" . . . Fine. Just this once."

"Yes! Now, Marco—"

"Fine," the blond interrupted. "I know you're not going to let me say no."

Thatch grinned in a way that Marco really didn't like. "Good. Because your shirt is my favorite."

Frowning, Marco unfolded the shirt Thatch had thrown at him and automatically groaned. "Seriously yoi? Pineapples?"

Sure enough, Marco's blue shirt had yellow outlines of pineapples and a few other flowers traced across it. The blond immediately went to throw it, but then stopped when he remembered that he'd already agreed to wear it. It didn't help that Ace was snickering.

"Nice one, Thatch."

"Thank you. It's good to know that at least one person here appreciates my talents."

"I wouldn't call them that," Marco grumbled, but he was more amused than annoyed by Thatch's antics. "Let me guess; you got the nicest shirt."

Thatch shrugged. "Nah. Same kind of shirt, just different colors." He held it up, displaying its light pink color. It had green plant designs on it, but overall the shirt was a lot more subdued than Ace's.

"Why's mine the brightest?" Ace grumbled.

"Because of your sunny personality," Thatch quipped. He reached down and picked up a pile Ace hadn't noticed before and then threw two pairs of black swim trunks at the two commanders. "Here. I think they're your size."

" _That's_ why my shorts were missing the other day!"

"Yup." Thatch didn't sound ashamed at all. "Oh, don't give me that look. You had spares. And I gave them back. Now get changed; we're supposed to be at the island in a few minutes. We're already within visual distance."

He left, and Marco sighed. "Apparently they neglected to inform me about this yoi. Can't say I'm surprised."

"Meet you on the deck in five?"

"Sure."

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace let out a contented sigh. The sun's rays warmed his body while he lounged on a beach chair that easily accommodated his six-foot frame. The cushions on it were soft, the angle just right, and—best of all—there was a small table within reach holding his half-finished frozen lemonade. He didn't need to worry about getting too warm or getting sunburned thanks to his rather unique constitution, so he didn't worry about getting shade. He even had a pair of sunglasses on to dim the bright sunlight.

He could get used to this.

The sound of the surf breaking on the beach reached his ears and he let himself relax even more, feeling completely happy with Thatch's decision. Of course, the man had been disappointed when Ace took off his tourist shirt and slung it across the back of his chair, but Ace had insisted on marking the chair as "his", and no, he _wasn't_ going to take off his necklace instead.

"Heads up!"

Ace didn't even react as something passed through his body, nearly making his entire midsection turn to flames. Then he frowned, cracking one eye open when whatever the thing was didn't move. Then he remembered: he was lying down on a beach chair. Just because _he_ was intangible didn't mean that the _chair_ was.

"Dammit," Ace muttered, sitting up and rubbing his head. He glanced at the offending item and blinked in confusion when all he saw was a melted puddle of _something_ on the cushions of the chair. "What is that?"

"Well, it _was_ a beach ball," Izo said, walking up behind Ace. He looked pityingly at the sad puddle of plastic. "Shame. They were having a pretty intense game over there, too."

Ace glanced over to where a bunch of Whitebeard pirates were giving him heartbroken looks. Feeling ashamed, Ace picked up the ruined beach ball and toss it onto the small table he had, reminding himself to throw it away later. "Sorry about destroying the ball, guys," he called. They waved him off.

"It's fine, commander! We brought spares just in case this happened!"

Sure enough, they were back to playing whatever game they had been playing before. Ace grinned, then looked at Izo. "Have you seen Thatch around?"

Izo shook his head. "Saw him head into the forest an hour ago, haven't seen him since. He'll probably be back soon, though."

"'Kay. Thanks."

Izo resumed heading to the snack bar they'd set up hours ago, and Ace lay back down in his chair, grabbing a quick drink of his frozen lemonade in the process.

He was just starting to drift away when footsteps muffled by sand interrupted him. Suppressing a sigh, Ace lifted his sunglasses and squinted when he saw Thatch walking towards him, an overstuffed bag slung over one shoulder.

"Thatch? What are you doing? What's in the bag?"

The fourth division commander grinned impishly. "Just a few local island fruits I thought our good friend Marco would appreciate."

"They're pineapples, aren't they? Thatch, you're running this joke into the ground. First the shirt, now actual pineapples?"

"Oh, stop. I'm taking a break from bird jokes."

"For how long?"

"A day. Two, tops. I have to make up for it somehow."

"You know Marco's not going to be happy with you."

"Oh, I'm well aware. Here."

Ace caught the marker Thatch tossed his way, a bemused expression on his face. "What's this for?"

"You're going to help me."

"Hell no," Ace said instantly, making to hand the marker back. "I am _not_ getting involved with this again."

"Too late," Thatch said, still grinning. "I've already started. Take a look."

He rummaged around in the bag and then pulled out a pineapple, holding it up for Ace's inspection. Ace's expression slowly filled with disbelief as he noticed the face crudely drawn on the fruit. It barely resembled Marco at all, but the half-lidded eyes were unmistakable.

Thatch then handed Ace another, blank pineapple. "Well? Get to drawing! We only have a little while before Marco gets back, and I want these to be spread all around the beach."

"He's going to kill us," Ace muttered. Despite his words, he kept drawing, putting considerably more effort into his sketching than Thatch was.

"Yes, but only after he hunts down and destroys every one of our wonderful little mini versions of him. There are about twenty. I'll tell him there're thirty."

"He'll know you're lying," Ace said, tossing another completed fruit into the growing pile. "He's good at noticing that."

"That may be," Thatch conceded, "but there's a chance he won't notice." Thatch completed the pineapple he was working on and then stood and stretched. "I'm going to go put these ones around the beach. Keep up the good work, Ace!"

Ace just rolled his eyes good-naturedly and continued drawing. It was more difficult to draw on a pineapple than he expected, but he thought he was doing a pretty good job. After all, his faces _looked_ like Marco. Thatch's . . . were slightly harder to interpret, but the fourth division commander had been adamant that they got the message across just fine.

Thatch returned a few minutes later. Ace tossed him the last pineapple and the marker he'd been using.

"I'm going back to lying down," he said, getting to his feet. He frowned at the sand stuck to his skin and shorts, moved a little ways away from Thatch, and quickly turned to flames to get rid of it—a handy trick he'd figured out in Alabasta. Then he went back to his chair, and his mostly-melted lemonade. He was just about to get a drink when a sense of foreboding made him stop.

It was a familiar feeling. Slowly, Ace turned to looked at Thatch, who seemed oblivious to the ominous tint to the air. He was still scribbling away, and Ace was hesitant to looked behind him.

" _Thatch_. Just _what_ are you doing?"

Thatch froze, then turned with a shaky smile on his face. "Marco. Hey, buddy, I thought you were still making sure everything on the ship's okay."

"Just finished," Marco said. Ominous shadows covered his face, making him look almost terrifying. "Why are there pineapples with _my_ face on them scattered around the beach?"

At this point, Ace knew Marco was angry. He also knew that there was little chance of escape, so honesty was the best course of action. That idea was only reinforced when Marco glanced at him.

"I know you were involved in this too, Ace."

"It was Thatch's idea!"

"Hey!"

Ace then decided that holding up his reputation as a fearsome pirate in the face of Marco's wrath wasn't worth it, and he quickly took off, the sand flying into the air in his wake. Behind him, Thatch tried to do the same, but Marco caught him by the collar of his shirt.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"You look . . . wet," Ace commented while valiantly trying not to smirk at Thatch's sodden appearance. The fourth division commander pouted.

"Marco dropped me into the ocean."

"How far?"

"Half a mile. He wasn't happy. Then he made me find all the pineapples. I still don't know what he did with them!"

Ace blinked; he thought back to when Marco had caught him and forced him to set fire to a pile of fruit. " . . . Yeah. Who knows?"

"Anyway, it's going to take me weeks to get the sand out of my clothes. It clings when you're wet, did you know that?"

"Kind of expected it, really."

"Your sympathy is underwhelming."

"I'm here for you," Ace said with a grin. "So what's the plan now? You were talking earlier like you had the entire day mapped out."

"Oh, I do. We're building sand castles!"

Ace thought he misheard. Surely the fourth division commander of the fearsome Whitebeard Pirates, a member of the crew that practically ruled a large section of the New World and whose name was spread throughout the globe with both fear and awe, hadn't just suggested that they build _sand castles_.

"What?" Ace said dumbly.

"Sand castles," Thatch repeated, looking pleased. "You know, castles made out of sand?"

"Thatch. We're _pirates_. We don't build sand castles."

"Nonsense. It's _because_ we're pirates that we can build sand castles; we can do whatever we want."

Ace opened his mouth and then realized that there really was no way to refute that statement.

He didn't have a problem with building sand castles; he'd even done it once or twice back on Dawn Island with Luffy, but it had been a really long time since then, and he'd never really thought about doing it again, much less while he was in a pirate crew.

"How are you going to convince anyone to do that?" Ace eventually asked. Thatch gave him an amused look.

"I don't have to 'convince' anyone; they've known about it. There are teams."

"Teams?"

"Yup. It's by division; you've got two hours to build the best sandcastle you can. Pops and we—the commanders—will be judging. Oh, and we can't vote for our own division. I think yours is over there, by that driftwood."

Ace looked over and, sure enough, saw his division waiting. There was just one problem.

 _Teach._

Ace knew the blood was draining from his face but he still managed to give Thatch the smile he'd probably been expecting. "Cool. When do we start?"

"Right now. Good luck! Actually, never mind. My division's going to win."

"Sure, Thatch. Sure."

Ace began walking towards his division, feeling the dread slowly building within him. Each step brought him closer to Teach, closer to Thatch's murderer—

Except Thatch wasn't dead. He was alive, and Teach was just another member of Ace's division; in fact, he and Ace had been something approaching friends before the traitor had revealed his true colors.

He had no enemies here.

But he still wanted to burn Teach to a crisp and Ace wasn't sure he'd be able to actually hold a conversation with the guy. After all, he'd had the audacity to go after _Luffy_. No one did that, not when Ace was there.

"Hey, commander!"

Ace glanced up and saw Shia waving at him. She was grinning, her bikini almost as bright as Ace's shirt. Ace vaguely recalled that she'd been one of the planners for the party a few nights ago—because his mind was a little scattered at the moment, and he couldn't quite remember faces that should've been ingrained in his memory—and offered a wave back, forcing a smile onto his face. Shia frowned.

"Commander, is something wrong? You don't look too well. Is it the ocean?"

"No, I'm fine," Ace said, making a concerted effort to look normal. Then he realized that was impossible and scrambled for something else to say, a reason. "Thatch dunked me into some ocean water earlier, and I'm still feeling the effects a little."

"Oh." Shia brightened. "Well, hopefully you feel up to building the greatest sand castle this world has ever seen! We've already got some designs in mind but figured we should get your approval first; you've always been good with building and planning things, after all."

"Well, we've got two hours," Ace said. "We should take a while to plan." He began to seriously think about the competition, pushing away his worries about Teach for the moment. "There are at least three types of sand we can use; dry sand, wet sand, and soaking sand. The dry sand won't be good for much else besides decoration; the wet sand would be the main building blocks, and the drenched sand would be like mortar."

Shia grinned, holding up a stack of papers. "Here's what we've got so far."

Ace was glad that his division was very good at being self-sufficient. They'd gone without a commander for a while, and Ace was still getting used to commanding a hundred people.

He began to leaf through the pages, a slow grin forming on his face in response to what he saw.

"I can work with this."

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"Looks good!" Ace called, glancing down at his division from on top of the scaffolding. Kensetsu, one of the men who had taken charge of the building process, waved in acknowledgement and relayed a few final instructions to the other members. Immediately, they began to deconstruct the scaffolding and drainage pits, while others went inside the sand castle to check that the support beams and columns were still in place.

Ace hopped back down to the ground, momentarily turning to flame so that the impact wouldn't break his legs.

"Well, commander?" Teach asked. Ace managed to suppress his wince and instead grinned cockily.

"We've got this."

Thankfully, Shia intervened before Ace's emotions overwhelmed his expression and led Ace away from Teach, regaling him with the details about the inside of the sand castle.

"Support columns A through F seem to be holding well, but G looks a little shaky. We can try to fix it, but there's a chance that could cause the entire floor to collapse."

"Leave it. It's a temporary structure; as long as it lasts through the judging period, we'll be fine."

They ducked through an arch, taking a moment to appreciate the art decorating the walls. Sometimes, Ace mused, it was nice to have a hundred pirates under his command; at least one of them was bound to know how to make some pretty kickass art.

A sudden and very loud whistle from outside had Ace and Shia heading back onto the open beach. Thatch was standing on a raised platform, a whistle in one hand.

"Listen up!" He called, his voice carrying to each corner of the island's beach. "The sand castle competition building period is now over! Izo, don't give me that look, you had plenty of warning! We're going to start judging; all division members, please go to the viewing area, which is conveniently set off by a line of pineapples! Commanders, meet over here by Oyaji!"

The Whitebeard Pirates followed Thatch's instructions remarkably quickly, and soon Whitebeard and his commanders were touring the sand castles. They started with Marco's, since he was the first division commander.

Ace blinked. "How did you even manage to put wings on a sand castle?"

Marco shrugged.

Next up was Ace's sand castle, which he was quite pleased with. Once he was sure everyone was watching, he carefully ignited a section of it, and in a spectacular rush of heat the entire thing burst into flame. It burned brightly, making the intricate designs on the elegant walls look all the cooler before they melted away.

"I expected that," Thatch admitted. "Ace, you might be a pyromaniac."

"I'm made of fire, idiot," Ace retorted with a grin. "What were you expecting?"

Then came Jozu's castle, and no one was surprised to see the remarkably sturdy-looking structure. It had multiple turrets and was pretty imposing. Ace frowned; it made his sand castle look small by comparison.

Jozu's expression never changed as the commanders and Whitebeard examined his sand castle, but Ace was under the impression that he was pleased. It was often hard to tell.

Thatch's sand castle didn't look like much on the outside, but on the inside it had literal piles of food—all made out of sand. Ace felt his stomach grumble in protest and vowed to visit the snack bar immediately after the competition.

The other sand castles went by in a blur for Ace, though he remembered laughing—snickering—at Izo's sand castle, which had half-collapsed by the time the commanders reached it. Apparently, Izo had only needed one more minute to fix up a certain section, but Thatch hadn't permitted it. Even Whitebeard had laughed, and Ace was pleased to note that his captain was having a great time at the beach, seeing his sons and daughters so happy.

"All right!" Thatch called, quickly gaining everyone's attention. "The votes have been collected, and the results tallied." His expression dropped slightly. "Unfortunately, some of you heartless people are clearly blind, but that's just my opinion."

A few pirates booed Thatch and others called a couple motivational phrases to get him to hurry up.

"Fine, fine! Jeez. Third place goes to . . . Jozu! Because it held up even after Pops accidentally sneezed nearby, even when most of the other sand castles collapsed! We were all very impressed."

Jozu just nodded, the members of his division cheering in the background.

"Second place goes to . . .Marco! Seriously, how did you get _wings_ on a sand castle?"

Marco smiled while his division let out whoops of celebration.

"And, finally," Thatch said, his voice dropping to make the moment even more dramatic, "the first place spot! The winner of the sand castle competition is . . ." He pantomimed opening an envelope and pulling out a card, then grinned. "Second division! Congratulations, Ace! I'm pretty sure people were just hoping you wouldn't set _them_ on fire!"

Ace blinked. Then he grinned. "Sweet!"

"And, because I am such a loving and caring person," Thatch said, "I am still providing the wonderful buffet I promised earlier. It's by the snack shack, and you'd better hurry; once commander Ace gets there, portions will be halved!"

Ace didn't even bother to flip Thatch off as he sprinted for the snack shack, other hungry pirates on his heels.

* * *

 _A/N Fun little break chapter. Things heat up next chapter._

 _Reviews:_

 _poemado: Ace is traumatized, but probably not to the extent you're thinking. He did manage to die mostly at peace with the world, remember. Making a copy of himself out of flames would be extraordinarily difficult and probably not very productive for Ace, but he could probably do it given enough time (though it wouldn't be able to move, etc)_

 _Gamma Cavy: I did some (superficial) research on how big humans' wings would have to be, and adjusted Ace's accordingly. I'm glad you like them! Really, Ace was only making them as a kind of training._

 _cantorahagedoorn: Very short version: Thatch made a mistake with a prank. Short version: Poorly placed, easily shattered mirrors that Marco discovered the hard way, which cost him a shirt._

 _Have I forgotten about Teach and the Yami Yami no Mi? Definitely not! I have a timetable worked out. I think._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	12. Chapter 12

_This story is apparently recommended on tvtropes, which is pretty cool._

 _Also, did I hear someone say . . . plot?_

* * *

Chapter 12

 _May 18th_

Marco sighed, leaning back in his chair and setting down the pen he'd been using the write and check over the latest round of inventory statements. Their supplies of bullets and gunpowder had been getting low recently, and they would have to restock soon. Unfortunately, the island where they typically got their supplies was a long ways away from their current position.

The commander pushed that worry aside for the moment, knowing that, as tired as he was, doing any more work wouldn't be productive. Absently, he wished that his healing powers covered exhaustion, but they didn't and never had so he dismissed that thought as well.

He didn't get paid enough for this. Well, he didn't get paid at all, really; he simply got whatever he happened to get out of the loot. He supposed that just being on Whitebeard's crew was payment enough; he'd been on it for decades and had never once regretted his decision.

Either way, he needed sleep. His body was making that abundantly clear, and Marco really didn't feel like pulling an all-nighter again. Waking up early was one thing; not sleeping at all was another.

Standing and stretching, Marco took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he walked to his bed, more than ready to go to sleep—

What was that noise?

Marco frowned. He'd heard it before, of that he was certain, but it was faint and his exhaustion-cloaked hearing wasn't helping matters in the slightest. After nearly a minute of listening, Marco finally placed the noise. He'd heard it a few weeks before, back when Ace had just recently awoken from his coma: screaming. And not simple screams of fear. No, there was despair and desperation and something that made Marco feel strangely hollow all mixed into the noise. It was haunting.

Deciding that sleep could wait and now strangely awake anyway, Marco hurried out of his room and down the hall, heading towards Ace's room and waving off the other crew members that had come to investigate. He arrived quickly and shoved open the door without hesitation. Marco winced at the sudden increase in volume and shut the door behind him, eyeing Ace's twisting and thrashing form on the bed. The young commander's face was contorted, flames licking his arms and shoulders. Marco was suddenly glad they'd had the foresight to get him fireproof bed sheets.

"Ace," he tried, but the man was clearly beyond regular methods. He was still screaming, though every few seconds he stopped for breath and let out a horrible keening sound that punched straight through Marco's chest and tore at his heart. It was a sound that a man as strong as Ace should never have to make. The young man was also clawing at his chest, almost as though he was searching for something that wasn't there.

Marco set his jaw and walked over to Ace's bed, quickly and expertly pinning the man's limbs. Instantly, Ace turned to fire, throwing Marco off and jumping off the bed, landing in a defensive crouch. His eyes were wild and slightly glazed over, as though he wasn't really _there_.

Blue fire shot across Marco's arms, and legs, healing the burns there. He opened his mouth to say something else to Ace, but the other commander suddenly lunged, catching Marco off guard and sending him to the floor. Marco's exhaustion-dulled reflexes weren't helping him in the slightest, but they were enough to keep him from getting seriously injured by his own brother. Ace had one flaming fist mere inches from Marco's head and the commander decided that Ace needed to wake up _now._

"Ace!" Marco shouted, simultaneously coating his leg in Haki and kneeing Ace in the stomach. The logia user gasped in shock more than pain as his breath left him and Marco took the opportunity to roll over and pin Ace down once again. "Ace! Listen to me; you're on the Moby Dick! You're fine! You're safe!"

Ace still had that wild look in his eyes and he couldn't quite focus on Marco. "Where's Thatch?" He gasped. "Where's Thatch? Is Luffy okay? _Is he alive_? WHERE IS THATCH?"

Marco grit his teeth and slapped his friend, cutting off his hysterical shouting. Ace stilled, his eyes going wide and his breathing staying quick and shallow. He stopped resisting and Marco gradually let up the pressure on Ace's limbs.

"Ace," he said slowly, "what's my name?"

"Marco," Ace whispered, slowly turning his head to meet Marco's gaze. His eyes were still slightly unfocused, but now Ace was clearly making an attempt to reconnect with reality.

"And where are you?"

"The Moby Dick."

"How is Thatch?"

Ace's breathing stuttered and he closed his eyes, expression tightening with a pain Marco didn't know the origin of. "He's . . . Thatch is alive?"

Marco didn't like the way it was phrased as a question. "Thatch is alive," Marco said firmly. "He was talking with us during dinner. We talked about your brother, remember?"

"Lu? We—we talked about Luffy?"

"Yes," Marco confirmed patiently. Ace swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them. This time, he was solidly focused on Marco.

"I—I'm okay. Sorry, Marco. I—I don't know why I attacked you. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Marco said easily, helping Ace to his feet. Then he sat Ace on the bed and turned to leave. "Remember, I'm here if you—"

"Marco."

Something in Ace's tone made Marco pause and glance back. Something inside him broke when he saw the devastated expression on Ace's face. The man looked like he was—or already had been—killed inside. "What, yoi?"

"There—there's something I need to tell you. I—I've been keeping it secret for too long."

Marco's eyes narrowed and he glanced around at Ace's room, seeing the scorch marks on the walls. "I think we should talk in my room. Less chance of someone overhearing that way, in case they came to investigate. Unless you want other peo—"

"No! No," Ace repeated, shaking his head. "It's not—just—yeah. Your room would be great."

Marco carefully led Ace to his room, making sure that there were no eavesdroppers lurking nearby before he closed and locked the door. Ace sat on the chair at Marco's desk, staring blankly at the floor. His freckles stood out against his pale skin.

Originally, it had seemed as though Ace was going to take the initiative, but what little energy the black-haired youth had demonstrated upon waking had dwindled and died during the short walk to Marco's room.

For a moment, Marco considered prodding Ace for information, but then he decided against it. He had a plan for this—well, kind of. Reaching past Ace, Marco opened one of the drawers in his desk and withdrew a small notebook. Ace watched him somewhat warily as Marco opened the notebook and flipped through it, eventually stopping on a certain page.

He cleared his throat and began to read.

"He said I shouldn't be alive. Kept screaming about me being dead and his little bro Luffy. Signed Thatch. Treated Thatch and I like ghosts, didn't seem to believe we were real at first. Sneaks looks at Thatch constantly. Signed Marco. Doesn't eat as much as normal. Stares at me a lot. Signed Thatch. Went pale during breakfast and didn't eat as much as normal, even though the food was delicious. Then left. Signed Thatch. Looked panicked when Teach entered the mess hall and then fled. Signed Marco."

Marco glanced up, saw Ace's ashen expression, and paused. "Do you understand yoi?"

"You and Thatch . . . you made a list," Ace said quietly. "A list of all the things that didn't seem right with me after I exploded."

"Do you want me to finish it? There's a lot more."

"No. I get the idea. I've been acting weird." Ace sighed, running his hands through his hair and ducking his head down. He mumbled something that Marco didn't catch.

"I didn't catch that."

"I'm in over my head," Ace repeated, looking up again. He looked incredibly tired, and Marco wondered if his recent increase in narcoleptic fits was because he hadn't been getting enough sleep at night. With the way Ace had been screaming and thrashing earlier, he wouldn't be surprised. "I . . . I don't even know where to start, Marco."

"You could start with why you keep worrying over Thatch. You thought he was a ghost or hallucination at first."

Ace grimaced. "Right. That."

"Ace, if it's really—"

"No, I should say it," Ace interrupted, waving one hand in the air. Then he looked abashed. "Sorry. I keep interrupting you. It's just that what I have to say is a little unbelievable."

"Say it and then I'll tell you whether I believe it or not, yoi," Marco said.

"Okay." Ace took a deep breath. "IthinkItravelledbackintime."

Marco blinked. "Say it slower."

Ace's face was a very interesting shade of red. "I—I think I travelled back in time. 'Cause I remember things from June and July and August and stuff that hasn't happened yet and Thatch—" Ace stopped there, his jaw working. "Thatch was murdered."

Silence reigned. Ace remained still, his expression practically made of stone.

"Murdered, yoi?" Marco repeated, his expression far darker than it had been. "By whom? And why?"

"Teach. For a Devil Fruit."

"He killed his brother?" Marco's expression was still calm and composed, but angry flickers of blue fire were cropping up on his shoulders. "Over a Devil Fruit? Why didn't he ask for it?"

"Because he's a bastard," Ace spat. He didn't say it out loud, but he was eternally grateful that Marco hand't even questioned him. It spoke volumes of the trust the two brothers shared. "He stabbed Thatch in the back and fled the ship, then took up the name Blackbeard and formed his own crew. He went after my little brother. My _little brother_ , Marco."

"Ace, calm down before you burn my chair. I like that chair."

Ace took a deep breath, focusing on reigning in the wayward flames that danced across his skin. Normally, he had much better control over his abilities, but the stress was getting to him more than he cared to admit. "Sorry."

"It's not a problem, yoi. Now, I need you to look at me, Ace."

Ace complied, finding it more difficult than he expected to hold Marco's piercing gaze.

"We're going to fix this," Marco said firmly. "I don't know what happens in the future, but it won't happen again."

"It definitely won't," Ace growled, clenching one hand into a fist. "I won't let it."

"Good to hear. But if you want my help—and I'm assuming that's why you're telling me this—then you'll need to tell me everything, yoi."

Ace swallowed. "I can do that."

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"And that's everything," Ace finished, absently massaging his throat. He normally didn't talk that much, so suddenly spilling what was, for all intents and purposes, his life story wasn't the most comfortable thing mentally or physically.

Marco was quiet for a minute, his lax expression giving away nothing of his thoughts. Then he rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands, rubbing his face. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" He said.

"Huh?"

"I'll be frank," Marco said, sitting up straight again. "If you had told me twelve hours ago that I would be talking to a time traveler who was hell-bent on saving his family and damned be the consequences, I would've had Tasuka give you a psyche eval."

"But now?"

Marco let out a long sigh. "I wish you would've trusted me with this sooner."

Ace blinked in confusion. That hadn't been what he'd been expecting Marco to say, and he couldn't quite form the right words to respond, so he settled on giving a slightly dumbfounded, "eh?"

"I wish you would've told me sooner," Marco repeated. "How long have you been carrying this on your shoulders, yoi? Since the explosion?" Ace's silence was all the answer Marco needed. The first division commander shook his head. "In all honesty, I'm not sure whether I should be impressed or worried. Impressed that you lasted this long with this weighing you down, or worried that you didn't trust any of us enough to tell us until now."

"No, no, that's not it!" Ace said quickly, putting his hands up and doing nothing to hide the guilt on his face. "I trust you, Marco! I trust everyone on this ship—"

"Except for Teach."

Ace's expression darkened considerably. "Except for Teach. But you have to believe that—well, I just didn't want to burden anyone else." Ace glanced at Marco and frowned at the man's expression. "What?"

Marco grinned—just the slightest twitch of his lips, really, but a smile all the same—and shook his head. "You really are selfless, aren't you? Maybe it's because you're only twenty, or because you've only been a pirate for three years, but you seem to be missing a pretty important piece of the puzzle." Marco's piercing gaze locked with Ace's. "One crewmember's burden is everyone's burden. We're not meant to go through these struggles alone. It doesn't matter if you're a commander or not; we support each other. Never think for a moment that you should do something alone. We're family."

In the back of his mind, Ace wondered whether hearing this speech from Marco on the day he left the ship to pursue Teach would've changed anything. It definitely changed his perspective, but knowing how stubborn he could get, it probably wouldn't have made a difference in the long run. Maybe Marineford never would have happened, maybe all of his brothers and sisters that had died in the battle would live, maybe Luffy would never be put in that kind of danger, maybe Whitebeard would never get so injured.

Now, however—

"Dammit," Ace muttered, looking away and covering his eyes with one hand. Marco turned away to give the younger man a little privacy while Ace pulled himself together. Eventually, Ace managed to do just that and dried his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He hated being emotional; normally, everything was under control. But after being on the execution platform and seeing everything clearly for the first time, all the walls he'd constructed so carefully had been torn down. It was taking longer than he'd expected to build them back up. "Thanks, Marco."

"Don't thank me yet, yoi," Marco said calmly. "We still have planning to do."

"You're going to help me?"

"Idiot. Of course I am. You think I can let someone like you muddle through this on his own?"

"That hurts, you know."

"Coming from the guy that recently set the main sail on fire?"

"It was an accident!" Ace looked away. "But I see your point." He sighed. "Marco . . . I don't think anyone else should know about this. And it's not just my pride talking; if there's even a chance that Teach could find out about this, everything will go to waste. I can't risk that. No one else would entirely believe it, either."

"You don't need to justify the need for secrecy," Marco said. "This won't be the first time I've kept secrets from the crew."

Ace frowned. "What kinds of secrets?"

"Oyaji's stash of sake."

"The nurses would kill for that kind of info, Marco!"

"You see why I don't normally mention these things," Marco replied dryly. Ace conceded the point and dragged the conversation back on track.

"So, what's the plan?"

Marco raised an eyebrow. "I was under the impression you already had one."

"It sucks."

"Well, tell it to me and we can improve your plan together, yoi."

Both commanders stayed up late through the night and long into the early hours of the morning, talking and planning all the while. They nitpicked and vetoed each other's ideas, eventually managing to settle on certain details. They only separated when the sun's rays turned the ocean to gold and their individual duties as two commanders of Whitebeard's crew called. They maintained a silent agreement that they would talk again at a later time.

Ace felt significantly lighter that day, though he couldn't pinpoint the exact reason why.

* * *

 _A/N The site went down while I was in the middle of making edits, so I had to redo them, which is why this chapter came out slightly later than I wanted it too. I originally planned to have this posted hours ago, but I figure that one in the morning is just as good as nine at night (sleeping schedule? What's that?). Anyway, now Marco knows!_

 _Reviews:_

 _gdesertsand: I've had this chapter written for a long while, so I admit your review amused me. The irony of the timing was too good._

 _Guest: He'll be mentioned, and he will appear, but the latter won't happen for a looooooong while._

 _What's up next? Some action. Possibly some witty banter. Perhaps a dash of smartassery._

 _-RoR_

 _ **Please review.**_


	13. Chapter 13

_I could sleep for three days straight and still not feel adequately rested._

* * *

Chapter 13

Ace woke up to cannon fire. He was fully awake in an instant, dressed and ready in another fifteen seconds, and on deck within thirty. When he reached the deck of the Moby Dick he paused, a cannonball shooting through him and splashing into the nearby waters.

"Still not used to seeing that," Thatch commented, walking up to Ace while the younger commander's body reformed.

"You'll get used to it one day," Ace replied easily. Then he frowned, indicating the numerous pirate ships surrounding the Moby Dick with a tilt of his head. "So what's going on, exactly?"

Thatch shrugged, absently stroking his goatee as he looked around. "Well, it seems that some wannabe pirates have surrounded our ship and believe that they have the skill and manpower to take down one of the Yonko and his crew. They're very confident." He smirked. "Not one of their cannonballs has hit the ship, and they've been firing for almost three minutes. The closest one was the one that went through you, Ace."

"Who are they?"

"Dunno. Their flag looks like a . . . chessboard? Hard to tell. Hey, Shiryoku!"

The man who was currently in the crow's nest—and looking entirely relaxed, even giving the situation—glanced down. "What is it, Commander?"

"What's their flag?"

"Uh—looks to be a chessboard! There's a white rook, but that's it!"

"Huh," Thatch muttered, "I've never heard of them before. Thanks!"

"No problem!"

"A chessboard with only a white rook?" Ace repeated. "Yeah, I've never heard of them either. You think Marco would know?"

"Probably. He's on cannonball duty right now, though."

Ace raised an eyebrow. "They're having _him_ deal with the cannonballs?"

"No, no. He's monitoring the guys that _are_ so that they don't take their competition too far and sink every single on of those guys' ships. Otherwise there'd be no point in sending a message about how easily we can deal with these guys."

"Oh. Makes sense."

"Yeah. By the way, our divisions have been nominated to board that flagship in the middle."

"The one with the rook as the main mast?"

"Yup."

Ace grinned. "Sounds like fun. Let's do it."

"Alright!" Thatch sheathed the two swords he'd been carrying, cracking his knuckles. "We'll just grab a ship and—"

"That'll take too long," Ace interrupted. "C'mon. I've got a faster way."

"Oh, no," Thatch said, taking a step back. "I am not getting hurled through the air just because you didn't want to take an extra minute to get a _boat_."

Ace frowned. "Fine. We can take Striker."

"No. One, it's really not good for more than one person, and two, you sail like a madman. A drunk madman. A drunk, blind, _and_ drugged madman."

"I do not!"

"You only think that because you're the one sailing!"

"Fine!" Ace threw his hands up in the air. "We'll do it your way. Shall we build a canoe while we're at it?" Then he grinned. "Or, I'll get there first, and you can catch up later."

"I'm fine with that," Thatch agreed. "Just leave some for me, will you?"

"No promises."

Without another word, Ace turned and, using a concentrated burst of fire, blasted into the air. He hung there for a second, taking in the impromptu battle at sea—if the one-sided thrashing could really be considered a battle of any sort—before angling towards the enemy flagship and rocketing in that direction. It wasn't flying, but it got the job done.

Ace crashed onto the deck, landing in a crouch with flames dancing across his limbs and a vicious grin on his face. He eyed the pirates standing in a loose, surprised circle around him. "So, who wants to dance first?"

A man pushed his way to the front. He was wearing a flowing overcoat and an extremely unflattering top that Ace had half a mind to burn right then, which was only made more laughable by the monocle on his face. He looked ridiculous, and it took most of Ace's willpower to keep a straight face.

"And you are?" The Whitebeard Pirate asked, keeping his flames at the ready.

"The user of the Chesu Chesu no Mi and the captain of the Laughing Rook Pirates, McGemu Bodo, at your service," the man replied stiffly. Ace guessed he was around his forties, what with his ridiculous getup and even more ridiculous attitude.

He needed to think up a different word than "ridiculous". At the same time, however, Ace wasn't sure if there were really any other words that would fit.

"I should return the introduction," Ace muttered. "Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates' Second Division, Portgas D. Ace."

The men—save for their captain—backed up automatically at the name.

"Wh-what?"

"Fire Fist? There's no way—"

"I didn't want to believe it!"

"Why would they send _him_?"

"Shut up, you idiots!" McGemu shouted, instantly silencing his crew. "Go screw something else up on this ship, why don't you?!"

"Y-yes sir, captain sir!"

"Sending away your crew?" Ace commented, crossing his arms and regarding the man across from him with a cool stare. "You want this to be a one-on-one fight?"

"Oh, it won't be that simple!"

Ace raised one eyebrow, tilting his head slightly at the same time. "Hm?"

"Let's play . . . a game!" He splayed out his hands, palms facing Ace. The second division commander remained entirely unimpressed, even as the deck beneath him began to warp and shift, changing color and texture until it resembled a chessboard. Ace was standing on the black king's tile, while McGemu was standing where the white king was usually placed. All around them, colored statues that were clearly the other pieces in the game rose up, almost as tall as Ace was. A king rose up behind Ace, and another behind McGemu.

Still Ace's expression didn't change. "What's this?"

"A game of death!" McGemu declared, laughing. "Now that I've begun the game, you won't leave it until you're dead! Not even Whitebeard can escape my Chesu Chesu no Mi!"

"You don't say," Ace muttered. His right arm turned to flame, only for him to turn solid again when pain lanced through his body, nearly sending him to one knee. "What the hell?"

"Ah, no breaking the rules," McGemu lectured, waving a finger in the air. "You have to play a brilliant game." His grin became sadistic. "And the loser dies. No exceptions."

"I'm going to burn you to ashes," Ace promised, rolling out his shoulder. "Right after I kick your ass at chess."

McGemu let out another laugh. The mere sound of it grated on Ace's nerves. "Good luck with that, Fire Fist Ace! I am unbeatable at chess! No one has won against me! I play the cleanest game you'll ever see!"

Ace's lips quirked in what might have been considered a smile. "Consider your streak broken. I don't lose."

"Ha! Your arrogance will be your end!"

"I could say the same."

"Fine, then. I shall start!"

What followed was a whirlwind game of chess, with McGemu taking time on each of his moves, considering every aspect of the board and every possible logical move that Ace could even think of making before the captain so much as looked in the direction of the piece he wanted to move. He was careful, deliberate, and clearly experienced.

Ace, on the other hand, kept a poker face throughout the entire match, but there was clear amusement in his eyes. He never even hesitated when he moved a piece; in fact, his method of play seemed to involve no thought at all. He flustered McGemu within three turns and continued to do so for the rest of the game through the sheer ridiculousness of his style of play. There was nothing logical to Ace's moves, nothing that spoke of experience.

With every piece of his that went down, Ace felt a strange pain stretch through him, which he recognized as a sign that his life was in danger. Apparently, McGemu hadn't been lying when he said the game was one of life and death. That meant that McGemu was feeling the same pain whenever Ace took out one of his pieces, as reflected in the man's scrunched expression.

Had the game been a city, McGemu would have been a longtime resident that knew of all the main streets, back alleys, and underground passageways. He could get anywhere he wanted in the most efficient way possible, and he knew exactly where to go. Meanwhile, Ace was a resident with no real home that leapt from rooftop to rooftop or sometimes just flew, disregarding the ideas of "the most logical route" or "the most plausible" rout in favor of the "whatever works" route. In the end, he made better time.

At some point during the match, Thatch arrived, but Ace waved him off when the fourth division commander tried to help. After all, Ace had the game well in hand, so Thatch left the rest to him and went to deal with the remainder of the crew.

Finally showing the smirk he'd been burying all game, Ace stepped forward and kicked over McGemu's last remaining pawn, leaving only the man himself standing with his king next to him.

"Checkmate," the commander said, casually flicking a fireball at McGemu's king—narrowly missing the pirate captain—and incinerating it.

"N-n-not possible!" McGemu stuttered, backing up a step. His expression was comically pale. "Y-you're just a p-p-p-p-pirate! How the hell are y-you so g-g-good at c-chess?"

"You're a pirate too," Ace said calmly.

"N-not important!"

"It's simple." Without warning, Ace lunged forward, punching McGemu in the face and sending the man crashing to the deck, which was already warping back to its original state. In the meantime, McGemu was looking paler and paler as his life leeched away with the ending of chess game. Ace grinned triumphantly, burying one foot in McGemu's back and lifting his arms in the air in victory. "It's just too bad for you!" He declared. "My little brother's so bad at board games that I have to be three times as good just to play him! If I didn't know how to play a nonsense game, I wouldn't have won!"

"That makes no sense," Thatch called in the background, but Ace ignored him.

McGemu opened his mouth to respond but suddenly froze. Eyes narrowing, Ace stepped off him and watched with an odd fascination as McGemu's body twisted and changed, contorting in a way it was never meant to contort, until there was nothing left of McGemu but a cracked, white, and human-sized king piece. Ace nudged it with his foot, wondering whether it would be appropriate to burn it or not.

"Yo, you done?" Thatch asked, walking up to Ace. He looked around. "Where'd the captain go?" Ace indicated the chess piece and Thatch made a noise of understanding. "I see. So you won the game? How? I thought the guy was supposed to be good if he actually bets his life on these games. And what was that speech earlier about nonsense games?"

Ace scratched the back of his neck, smiling slightly. "My little brother Luffy—"

"Whom you _always_ talk about, so I don't need a back story—"

" _My little brother Luffy_ ," Ace repeated, "was a pretty strange kid. Still is, but back when we were little we were bored. So, Luffy wanted to learn how to play chess, and I was the only one available to teach him."

"Where'd _you_ learn to play chess?"

"The set we sto—er, got—came with instructions. We kind of . . . winged it, after that. Developed our own style of play."

"The nonsense style?"

"Yeah. It would make sense if you met Lu, trust me."

"Does it always involve losing almost every single piece except your king?"

"Depends. Lu usually managed to save at least ten pieces before everything crumbled and he lost. That guy was good, so I had to sacrifice everything to win."

Thatch shook his head. "Man, sometimes I worry about what goes on in your head. Also, the next time we play poker, I'm betting on you."

"I'm pretty sure Curiel banned people from betting on me after the third day."

"Only in the official circles."

"There are unofficial circles?"

Thatch put a finger to his lips and winked. "Yes, but you didn't hear it from me."

Ace rolled his eyes. "Are there any others left for me?"

"Are you accusing me of taking all the fun for myself?"

"Of course not. I'm _asking_."

Thatch laughed. "Right. And yes, there are. A whole ship's worth, in fact." He pointed, and Ace followed the finger to the ship that was already turning to flee. An explosion near the rudder and then numerous gunshots through the sails suddenly halted the ship, however, and Ace could see panicked pirates jumping overboard, only to get swallowed by the hungry sea kings that had been brought in by the conflict happening above the surface of the water.

"Seriously, who would think to jump in the water in the Grand Line without checking it first?" Thatch murmured, shaking his head in disapproval. "Honestly."

"The blood in the water probably drew the sea kings," Ace commented, bending his knees. "I'm heading over to the ship."

"You have fun with that. I have to finish cooking breakfast; I was interrupted by these idiots."

"Got it." Ace paused. "Wait, what's for breakfast?"

But Thatch had already left, leaving his fellow commander in suspense. Ace frowned. "All right, I can wait." Then he shot into the air, already forming his signature attack.

"HIKEN!"

* * *

 _A/N The dude's name is literally Board McGame, in case anyone's wondering, and the fruit is the Chess Chess fruit. I know, I'm original. About as original as Bodo McGemu, anyway._

 _Reviews:_

 _Krazyfanfiction1: Similar to Smoker? What are you referring to?_

 _JustHopeForHope: Whatever you're doing, it's working out nicely for me._

 _I don't know when the next chapter is going to be out, but... (BE WARNED:_ _ **SPOILERS)** the latest revelations about Sabo forced me to make some changes, so this story's last few chapters got all screwed up. I think it worked out, though. Mostly._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	14. Chapter 14

_Recently got slammed by writer's block for this story, but I've got plenty of chapters in reserve so it's fine. I should be good in a week or so._

* * *

Chapter 14

 _May 30th_

"I'm telling you, I need a bigger budget! Do you have any idea how much money it takes to feed our crew?"

Marco sighed. "Thatch, of course I'm well aware. I've been on this crew for at least as long as you have, remember? Plus, I'm the first division commander, and I've seen the food budget change over time to accommodate new members coming in and old members leaving. You're well within the projected range; there's no need for an increase."

"C'mon, Marco, _please_?"

"He's not going to fund the thirty pound chocolate cake, Thatch," Ace put in around his lunch. "It's a great idea, don't get me wrong, but—" he inhaled a few pieces of toast before continuing, "it's not plausible, you know?"

"Not plausible my ass," Thatch muttered under his breath. He turned back to Marco, and the only thing keeping him out of the other man's personal space was the table between them. "Marcoooo!"

"No, Thatch. Three times no."

"Aw. You're no fun."

"If I _was_ your definition of fun, we'd go broke."

"Seriously?" Ace asked, finally finishing with his breakfast and casually pushing the plates aside. "How long would it take?"

Marco scoffed. "Knowing Thatch, two weeks."

Thatch frowned. "You're underestimating my financial skills, my friend. A week and a half at most."

"I think you mean 'overestimating'," Ace said.

"Huh?"

"If he was underestimating you, then it would've been more than two weeks. Overestimating means less than two weeks."

"Whatever," Thatch said, waving a hand dismissively. "We're getting off-topic—"

"No." Marco seemed unshakeable on that point. Thatch, realizing that he was out of daily-complaining-about-the-budget-time, relented.

"So, Ace," Thatch said instead, "what's your plan for the day?"

"Actually, there's something I need you to do," Marco said before Ace could reply. "There have been reports from the twelfth division that our flag marking Foodvalten as under our protection has been getting defaced."

Ace frowned, examining the contents of the small folder Marco handed him. "Could it have been some teenagers screwing around?"

Marco shook his head, pointing out a certain piece of information. "All the people on Foodvalten wear feathers on their heads. Witnesses say that the perpetrator didn't have anything of the sort."

"Perpetrator?" Thatch said, leaning in to look at the paper as well. "As in singular? Only one?"

"As far as we can tell, yes," Marco said. "That's why we're sending you in, Ace. With Striker, you're the fastest response team we've got."

"Striker's a good ship," Ace admitted proudly. "Yeah, Marco. I'll do it."

"Never doubted that. Just stop by the med bay on your way out, and check the storage room; Tor should already have your supplies for the journey ready. Oh, and you'll be taking a Den Den Mushi too."

"You want reports daily?"

"That, and if anything big comes up."

"Got it."

"One last thing. Ace, you need to be discreet. As much as I want our entire crew to go to that island and teach whoever is doing this not to mess with our territories, or us, there's a chance they will go to ground if threatened. Don't let them realize it's over until they can't escape."

"Of course," Ace said, grinning. It wouldn't be the first undercover mission he'd done.

"That means you'll have to wear a shirt," Marco clarified. Ace's grin dimmed slightly, but he shrugged.

"That's fine. It'll make it all the better when they realize I'm with Oyaji."

"I'll make you a few lunches," Thatch offered. "It's better than the stuff Stanley probably packed you."

"Don't diss Stanley," Ace chastised, but he was grinning. "He makes some good, long-lasting meals."

"Long-lasting, sure," Thatch conceded, "but they taste like crap."

Ace opened his mouth to disagree, frowned, and then shrugged. "Maybe, but it doesn't make a difference to me when I'm hungry."

"Nonsense. You need to appreciate the finer points of food."

"I do appreciate the finer points of food."

"Not listeniiiiing," Thatch sing-songed. Ace rolled his eyes, snatched a final snack from a nearby crewmember's plate, brushed off the subsequent protest with a not-so-sheepish grin, and took his leave. He easily navigated through the ship, nodding to the crewmembers he passed. Ace was familiar with the natural rolling of the Moby Dick on the waves and he rode it with the ease of long practice, his strides long and confident.

Following Marco's instructions, Ace stopped by the med bay. He poked his head in, looked around, and saw Tasuka writing away at her desk, which was shoved off in a side room that was really only a corner sectioned off by curtains that were open more often than not.

"Hey, Tasuka," Ace said, waving slightly. She glanced up, frowning and already opening her mouth to lecture the interloper for interrupting her, but stopped when she saw that it was Ace.

"Good, Marco said you'd be stopping by. Sit on the table." She pointed, and Ace complied. "Well," Tasuka mused, setting down her pen and standing, "at least I don't have to wait for you to take off your shirt."

"I aim to please."

"Sure. And I'm a princess. Stretch your arms over your head."

The two chatted amicably while Tasuka poked and prodded Ace, making sure that he was up for whatever trouble he would probably find himself in when he went to Foodvalten Island.

"So, I heard you went with Vista to that island a while back," Tasuka said, jabbing Ace a little harder than strictly necessary. Ace almost shrugged and then stopped when he remembered that Tasuka would get annoyed with him if he moved. It was hard to shrug with his arms over his head, anyway.

"Yeah. There was some group called Blue Cross or something there. They didn't like us."

"Marines?"

"Started by one."

"Ah. Makes sense. But you should've cleared it with me or Kisha first."

"I was fine! There were no problems."

"That's not what I'm concerned about, you idiot. What if you'd had internal bleeding? You may have scarred already, but that was an incredibly serious wound you had and if you'd disrupted the healing process too much you could've died."

Ace hesitated, remembering the fist that had torn through his flesh like so much paper. "Yeah. I could've."

Sensing Ace's darkening mood, Tasuka let up. "I'm not going to lecture you, but try to be more careful in the future. I may be a miracle worker, but idiots like you can be beyond miracles."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Sure you will." Tasuka made one last note on her ever-present clipboard and then gave Ace a slap on the back. "All right. You're good to go. Let me know if you feel a strange ache or any unusual pain in your chest, and I'll send over medication."

"Got it. Thanks, Tasuka."

"No problem."

Ace resumed his journey to the storeroom, softly closing the door to the med bay on his way out.

He made good time to the storeroom, which was almost as far from the med bay as a place could get on the Moby Dick. Knocking, Ace opened the door, only to pause when something small and round passed through his stomach. Ace brought his gaze up, raising an eyebrow at Tor, who was frowning.

"Why did you just throw a tiny cannonball through me?" Ace asked.

"Testing."

"Testing what?"

"Things."

Sighing, Ace gave up on that particular avenue of discussion and stepped farther into the room. "Marco—"

"Said you'd be coming, yes, I know. Hold this."

Ace caught the object with a dubious expression and then examined it, coming to the conclusion that, at some point, it may have resembled a miniature treasure chest. Now, however, it looked battered, beaten, and moments away from giving someone some nasty splinters.

Tor, who had been with the Whitebeard Pirates for longer than Ace had been alive and whose constant surly expression belied his eccentric yet strangely caring nature, was fiddling with a pair of binoculars in his hands, but after a second he let out a disappointed breath and tossed them to one side. They landed on one of the many mats that dotted the floor, which had probably been put there by someone else who was tired of Tor breaking things because he often tossed them over his shoulder before he quite realized what he was doing.

The man was clumsy, but he was head of the storeroom for one reason: his memory outstripped anyone else's by miles. It wasn't even a competition.

"So, Tor," Ace tried, but the man just waved a hand.

"Relax. You youngsters are always in a hurry."

"You're only—"

"A four-day journey on Striker, correct? Plus an extra three days' worth of food for your prodigious appetite . . . let's see, that would be in section A."

Ace wasn't sure whether he was supposed to reply or not, so he just nodded. Tor was gone in an instant, ducking between the many shelves that filled the large yet low-ceilinged room.

The second division commander waited, absently checking the log pose around his wrist before frowning. He was pretty sure he had an eternal pose for Foodvalten, but he wasn't sure. There was bound to be one on the Moby Dick, since Whitebeard had eternal poses for all his territories, but it would be a pain to track down and it would put him behind schedule.

Unless, of course, Marco had seen this coming and informed Tor that Ace would need an eternal pose for Foodvalten Island. Knowing how the blond-haired man could keep sixteen divisions and their commanders in order, including his own, Ace didn't doubt that Marco had seen it coming.

Sure enough, when Tor returned, he tossed Ace an eternal pose and then rolled a small barrel at him, and finished by throwing him a backpack. Ace raised an eyebrow and Tor clarified.

"The backpack has shirts and other disguise-related items. Commander Izo recommended hiding your freckles. The barrel has food and general supplies."

"All right. Thanks, Tor."

"Yeah, yeah. Go get into trouble."

"It's what I'm good at."

Tor huffed out something resembling a mix of a laugh and a snort and told Ace to get the hell out of his storeroom because he had things to do, dammit! Ace gave him a short wave, shouldered the backpack, and picked up the barrel, raising one eyebrow at its weight. Then he walked out, taking care not to accidentally brain one of his brothers or sisters with said barrel.

He made it on deck with little difficulty and dropped off the supplies on Striker, carefully arranging them so they wouldn't fall out of the small craft. Then he hopped back onto the Moby Dick and headed to his room, where he grabbed his favorite green and black backpack and his hat, which he immediately put on his head. It had gotten dirty at dinner the previous night and he'd had Vera fix it up. Apparently she'd finished and put it in his room, which Ace appreciated.

"Ace!"

"Hey, Thatch," Ace greeted. "What's the crate fo—oh."

Thatch smiled, handing the crate off to Ace. "Yup. Lunches that should last you a while. Knowing Tor, he only had, what, two days' extra? They should really know it's at least four."

Ace was long past the point of being sheepish about his appetite and just shrugged as much as he was able with the crate in his arms.

"Well, good luck, buddy," Thatch said. "Just leave some left for the rest of us, you hear?"

"No promises. They say it's only one guy."

"Ah, it's never just one guy that goes after a Yonko's pirate flag."

Someone down the hall called Thatch's name and the fourth division commander sighed theatrically. "Looks like duty calls."

They said their farewells and Thatch left while Ace went back to Striker, once again unloading his things. He frowned, realizing that he was going to need a rope to tie the stuff down, just to be sure it wouldn't fall (he couldn't exactly dive into the water to get it, after all). It couldn't be a regular rope, either. There was too much of a chance it could catch fire. Sighing, Ace made another trip down to Tor, but the man had clearly seen the request coming and the rope was already hanging on a peg outside the door. Silently thanking his crewmate, Ace went back to the deck and headed for Striker, hopefully for the final time.

"Commander Ace! Long time no see!"

And the blood froze in his veins, yet, on autopilot, Ace turned and smiled at the approaching Teach. "Teach!" He couldn't choke out anything even resembling an actual greeting. All he could manage was Teach's name. His grip on the rope was white-knuckled.

Memories of years of working beside Teach, of trusting him, of being his crewmate, all washed away, pushed aside, burned to the ground by memories of betrayal, of mocking laughter, of wounds so deep they would never heal.

Ace could feel his stomach twisting but fought with all he had to keep his emotions from showing on his face. He settled on a poker face, one that had been through many a trying time. It would probably hold.

Luckily, Teach didn't seem to notice that his commander had gone whiter than a sheet of paper.

"How's the ship been holding up? The crew?" Teach gave Ace a hearty slap on the back. "You?"

"G-great," Ace managed, giving a sickly grin mostly hidden by the shadows his hat provided. He needed to get Teach away; needed it badly. He wanted him _gone_ , away from his crewmates, away from anyone he could hurt with the knife he used to stab his friends in the back. "I hate to cut this meeting short—" not at all, not in the slightest, _get away_ —"but I just got a mission from Marco, and you know how he can be."

"Zehahahaha! Of course, of course! I'll see you around, Commander!"

Ace gave another tight smile and walked away, fighting to keep his strides normal and his posture relaxed. He tied his supplies down with robotic movements, his mind far away.

He didn't stop moving until he was roaring away from the Moby Dick on Striker, the wind whipping through his hair and the spray from cresting waves spattering against his bare skin.

He didn't look back.

* * *

 _A/N If you think that Ace's new mission doesn't pertain to the main plot, you're wrong._

 _Reviews:_

 _Krazyfanfiction1: Yeah, Ace's general combat abilities weren't really expanded upon besides that thing at Banaro Island. I wouldn't be surprised if he could pull off some of those moves like Smoker._

 _Guest: The Chess-Chess Fruit was kind of an on-the-spot thing. I don't really know if it had other uses . . . I suppose it could be used to play a casual game of chess anywhere, anytime, as long as the user didn't decide to make the penalty for losing the loss of his life._

 _Ms. McClue: It seemed appropriate, given the relationship those two had._

 _Gamma Cavy: Thank you!_

 _Chamsin: I've been updating this story way faster than I ever anticipated I would, honestly. I don't know how it happened._

 _Guest: It wouldn't surprise me if that was an actual thing, honestly._

 _The next chapter will probably be out within the next 7 days._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	15. Chapter 15

_Writing a scene in which someone gets his or her ass kicked is surprisingly satisfying._

* * *

Chapter 15

Not for the first time and definitely not for the last time, Ace cursed his luck and his narcolepsy. While on the way to Foodvalten, he'd fallen asleep, gotten caught in a particularly bad current, and been swept into the port of a marine base.

He'd managed to act before the alarm was raised, hiding striker in a patch of reeds and lying low, but someone had clearly noticed him because some kind of horn was blaring and people were shouting nonstop. The gate that covered the opening to the base had been closed and Ace wasn't confident that he could melt through it before cannon fire sunk his ship.

" _Intruder in section E! Intruder in section E! Squads G through K, report to section F!"_

Ace groaned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Apparently, he'd have to pretend to be a marine again. Awesome.

The pirate ducked through the numerous smaller buildings next to the port, sticking to the shadows and moving as silently as he could. Luck was on his side—probably trying to make up for getting him in this situation in the first place, Ace mused—and he managed to corner an Ensign that had been separated from his squad.

"Hello," Ace greeted cordially. "The name's Fire Fist Ace. I'm going to need your clothes."

The marine didn't even have time to scream.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace pulled his marine cap down lower over his eyes and kept walking, his new vest resting comfortably over his skin and covering the pirate mark emblazoned on his back. There was nothing he could do about the tattoo on his arm, but the marines here seemed to be particularly unobservant, because they hadn't even realized that Ace looked nothing like the guy who'd gone missing.

He'd managed to sneak into the commodore's office and find out where he was, as well as doctor a few forms so that his sudden entry into the marine ranks would go unnoticed for at least a few hours.

At the moment, he was headed for what he assumed was the mess hall, accompanied by his squad—X squad, which was apparently the third-weakest squad on the entire base, and it showed—and an appetite born from not eating for over five hours (a travesty in Ace's eyes, especially since he should've been almost to Foodvalten by now, not with some oblivious marines).

"—and then they told us to just leave! Like, what the hell?"

"Jake, you know it was a false alarm."

"Shut up, Lina. I don't care."

There were six marines in X squad; two of them were injured at the moment, Ace had taken out another, two were currently arguing, and the last guy looked so completely done with everything that he might as well not have been there. Ace didn't even remember his name.

"So, Ace, when did you join the marines?"

Or not. Apparently the guy had taken an interest in Ace. The Whitebeard commander paused for a minute, pretending to think while he thought up an answer that didn't sound like complete bullshit.

"A while ago," he eventually answered, shrugging and trying to look nonchalant. "A few years, at least."

"Oh, so you joined young?"

If Garp'd had his way, yes. Most definitely yes. "Sure."

"Huh. You don't remember my name, do you?"

"Ah . . . no," Ace said, scratching the back of his neck and offering a sheepish grin.

The marine grinned; he looked to be about Ace's age, maybe slightly older, and he had messy black hair, brown eyes, and a build so solid it could have been the foundation for a house.

"Figures. No one remembers it. Name's Nate."

"Ace," Ace greeted, figuring he might as well do it properly even though Nate had said his name not twenty seconds ago. "When did you join?"

Nate shrugged, casting his gaze to the sky while he thought. "Eh . . . four years? Five?"

"And you're already stationed in the New World?" Ace was mildly impressed. Mildly. He'd made it to the New World in a single year.

"Yup. My dad started training me to fight the moment I could walk."

Ace almost winced, recalling the days of Garp's "training". He wondered if Nate's training had been anything like that, and then decided it didn't matter in the long run. He was morbidly curious about what Nate's expression would be when he realized that the newbie marine he'd been talking to was actually the infamous Fire Fist Ace.

"Anyway, you must've made it here pretty quickly yourself," Nate said. "I don't think we've talked once since you got here, too, so you're a pretty focused guy.

Ace thanked whatever deity was listening for making this guy so unintentionally dense.

"Yeah. My grandpa was . . . fanatical about training me."

"Oh? Who was he?"

"Harp," Ace said, and then colored. Not his best lie. "Uh . . . yeah. He doesn't like the name very much, so he doesn't use it. I don't know what he goes by in the marines; I haven't seen him in a while."

Which was technically true. The last time had been over a year ago, and Ace had been trying to avoid getting brained by the cannonballs Garp kept hurling at him.

Nate took the name in stride and they walked in relative silence for a while. Soon enough, they reached the mess hall, and within a minute of arriving Ace had sat down with his apparent squad mates and was wolfing down the food (hey, it was free, and it was stealing from the marines; it couldn't get much better).

"You eat a ton."

Ace momentarily paused, glancing up to see Jake staring at him. The disguised pirate shrugged. "So I do." And then he resumed eating.

Once Ace was satisfied, he leaned back and let out an appreciative breath, happy to have his stomach feel completely full. While on journeys, he could only really eat three quarters of what he wanted at the risk of running out of supplies.

"Hey, Ace, now that you're done, I've got a question," said Nate.

"What?"

"What do you think about that alarm earlier today?"

"The false one?" Ace asked, not sure what to say. It would be awkward if he just announced that he was the cause, after all.

"Yeah. They're saying a pirate infiltrated the base."

"Really?" Ace put his hands behind his head, the very picture of relaxation. "What pirate?"

Nate shrugged. "Dunno."

"He must've been strong to get them in such a frenzy," Jake commented. He raised his arms, trying to look intimidating. "I bet I could take him."

"At least they raised the gate," Lina said, staring at Jake. "It's really hard to look out over the ocean with it closed, you know. And I hear a supply ship was waiting out there for hours."

"You and your stupid priorities," Jake muttered, rolling his eyes. "The sight of the ocean before the supply ship. Nice."

"Hey! It's easier to spot an enemy attack when you can _see_ your enemy!"

"That makes sense," Ace commented, earning the other two's attention. "By the way, Jake, want to arm wrestle?"

"Eh?" Jake glanced between his incredibly muscular arms—they were practically bulging, really—and Ace's, which appeared to be chiseled from stone. "Really?"

Ace shrugged. "Sure, why not? We've got time to kill before they dismiss us from here."

Jake looked doubtful, but he put his elbow on the table anyway. Nate and Lina scooted to one side to avoid being in the way while Ace and Jake clasped hands, each quickly grinning at the coming challenge.

"Don't be upset when you lose, Ace," Jake taunted.

"I wouldn't be so cocky," Ace replied, a dangerous light in his eyes that no one really noticed. The surrounding marines took notice of the impending competition and immediately placed bets, most choosing to back Jake, who had the clear muscular advantage. Most of the marines cheering in Ace's favor were doing it just to spite the others, but Ace didn't mind.

It was about time to make his exit, actually. If a supply ship was coming through, it would give Ace those extra few seconds of disorder that he would need to slip away.

"Go!" Lina and Nate shouted. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but anyone could see the intense expressions on Jake and Ace's faces, coupled with the way their clasped hands were shaking and the ominous creaking sound the table was making.

"Hey, Jake," Ace said, still grinning even while Nate struggled to bring his hand down, "there's something you need to know."

"What?" Jake's eyes were riveted on his hand, but he was at least listening.

"You said you could probably take whatever pirate infiltrated here, right?" Ace said. Jake frowned, his face going red with exertion. Ace looked unfazed. The surrounding marines were beginning to cheer even louder for Jake, hoping to rejuvenate him with sheer willpower—or something like that.

"What's that got to do with this?" Jake gasped.

Ace suddenly shifted—it was almost imperceptible, the way his eyes flashed and his body language shifted, somehow marking a transition from marine to something far different. And then Jake was being flung down, following his hand as Ace slammed it down onto—and then through—the table, breaking both the table and several bones in Jake's hand.

"Well, I'm that pirate."

Silence reigned while the marines reeled with shock. Jake was still staring at Ace, his surprise and adrenaline preventing him from feeling the pain in his hand just yet.

Ace, meanwhile, casually removed his marine cap, tossing it to the ground while he ran a hand through his hair, and then shrugged off his vest. Instantly, whispers erupted because of the mark on Ace's back; a mark proudly proclaiming his allegiance to the Whitebeard Pirates and clearly marking him as _not_ a marine.

"Nice to meet you," Ace said, letting the vest drop to the ground. "My name's Fire Fist Ace, and you marines make surprisingly good food. But ours is better."

Pandemonium ensued, during which Ace somehow managed to duck out of the cafeteria and sprint towards where he'd hidden Striker.

He almost laughed to himself; Nate, Lina, and Jake had all been utterly gob smacked by his declaration; Ace would carry their expressions to his grave and most likely still be giggling. After all, he probably wouldn't get the chance to do this again.

Unfortunately, he didn't have the luxury of time at the moment, so he pocketed his laughter for later and sprinted through the base, marines shouting after him. Ace retraced his steps, remembering what he'd seen while disguised and using the incomplete mental map to his advantage. He ran across a training field and toppled a veritable wall of crates, scattering the shattered wood and splintered contents across the grass and forcing the chasing marines to pick their way across or take a detour.

The marine base was _huge_. Ace hadn't had the time to properly appreciate its size when he was drifting through the main gate, but now that he was being chased headlong through the courtyards and training grounds and supply warehouses and barracks, he was really getting to appreciate the amount of effort that must have gone into building the thing.

He also realized that he picked strange times to actually think about things.

He skidded around a corner and kept sprinting, arms pumping and boots pounding against the ground. Striker was just past a large stretch of open ground and through a short trail across the reeds, which Ace could bypass with a flame-powered leap now that stealth was no longer an issue.

Ace managed to make it to the middle of the open space when he had to dive out of the way of a Kairoseki cage falling from the sky. It clanged heavily against the ground and Ace winced at the idea of being stuck in it. The time it took him to get back to his feet and his lost speed cost him, however, and soon Ace found himself surrounded by marines.

"Well," he said slowly, looking around. "This is awkward."

In the distance, he could see the great gate, currently open. A ship was slowly edging in, stuck on the strange tides that swirled through the manmade bay whenever the gate was opened. It would take several more minutes before it was completely clear of the gate, minutes that Ace needed to take full advantage of.

"Give up, Portgas D. Ace! You're surrounded!"

"You're saying those two things like they're related," Ace mused. Then he grinned. "But, you see, I've really gotta go, so if you could move out of the way . . ."

A few marines began to do just that before they realized what they were doing.

"I just have one question before you all charge at me," Ace said, hooking one thumb on his belt. The marines exchanged wary looks before permitting him to continue. "What's with your jackets?"

They bristled.

"I mean, I'm not trying to be offensive," Ace said, putting his hands up and ignoring the bullet holes tearing through his body from a few particularly trigger-happy and jumpy soldiers. "But, some of you guys—your coats get in the way like that, you know? I mean, some people can pull off the look, but if you're swinging a sword around, you don't want exceedingly loose clothing. That's my take on it, at least."

"WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT STYLE?!" The marines roared in response. Ace frowned.

"Style? I've got that in spades."

"YOU'RE NOT EVEN WEARING A SHIRT!"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"You idiots!" An officer barked, tiring of the question-and-answer session with an infamous pirate. "Get him!"

The marines charged and Ace jumped into the air, jumping off their heads with quick, sure footsteps before being forced back to the ground when the marines realized what he was up to. Still, he'd cut the distance he'd needed to go by nearly a quarter, and half the marines were behind him.

A spear passed through his midsection and Ace retaliated by punching the offending marine in the face, stealing his spear, and knocking back another six marines with a wide swing. He then abandoned the spear and turned to flames, weaving between another twenty soldiers before a Kairoseki staff forced him to return to normal.

Rapidly growing tired of dodging, Ace leaped into the air, his body blazing, and called out, "Enkai: Hibashira!" Instantly, he created a large amount of flames that he then shaped into a great pillar of fire that shot to the sky and spilled across the ground, forcing the marines away and clearing more ground around Ace, who darted through the firestorm, using Higan to quickly shoot down any marines that got overzealous and decided they were fireproof. Ace took it upon himself to remind them that they were, in fact, quite flammable. Especially those jackets.

Once he was sure there were no Kairoseki ranged weapons, Ace simply shot into the air and then rocketed to Striker. The small craft rocked in the water when Ace landed in it but the pirate paid that no mind as he adjusted the small, furled sail and turned the boat around. Then he was blasting out of the reeds, fire roaring from his feet and powering Striker's engine.

Cannonballs crashed into the water around him, peppering Ace with salty spray and making him ride the resulting waves. He wove around the impacts, keeping his senses open and trusting his skills in Observational Haki to keep him from swerving into the path of an oncoming cannonball.

Alarms blared, lights flashed, but the marines were far too late. Ace aimed for the main gate and passed through it, offering a wave to the dumbfounded marines on the deck of the supply ship that had unintentionally granted Ace his escape.

Only when he was speeding away from the naval base, the wind once again whipping through his hair, did Ace realize that he'd never actually found out what the name of the base was. Shrugging, he pulled out the eternal pose, oriented as best he could, and poured more flames into Striker.

Behind him, the marine base sank below the horizon, sirens still ringing.

* * *

 _A/N Idk I just felt that all the marines on this base had aggressively American names._

 _Reviews:_

 _Frappyrouge123: It's a very simple method: I procrastinate the hell out of everything else and just work on this, and then regret said procrastination later. I have a great system worked out, really._

 _Gamma Cavy: Thank you! I was worried that they were a bit heavy-handed, but tried to make it clear that Ace was reacting to Teach and what he'd done and not just being "weak"._

 _It'd be awesome to hear from more of you guys. Oh, and fun fact, this story is more than halfway over, I think._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	16. Chapter 16

_Now featuring . . . Detective Ace!_

* * *

Chapter 16

 _June 8th_

Ace was getting frustrated. He had been on the island of Foodvalten for over a week, almost two, and he wasn't even close to finding out who kept defacing the Whitebeard flag. He'd tried camping out at the site, but nothing ever happened when he watched, or it happened in the middle of the day. He couldn't stay there all the time, and the townspeople had been getting suspicious of him for staying out there so much, especially since he was a total stranger that had just dropped in, unknown and untrustworthy.

After all, Ace was without his trademark freckles (thanks to the makeup Izo had given him), and was wearing an almost tourist-y shirt very similar to the one he had worn on the beach a while back. He was almost unrecognizable to himself (though he had been approached numerous times and had deflected the questions by acting utterly clueless; he just channeled Luffy's habit of calling everything a 'mystery' and went from there).

One good thing was that he'd managed to find out that whoever was behind the defacing of Whitebeard's flag was not from Foodvalten. The perpetrator definitely had no feather on his or her head, and Ace had spent his first three days making absolutely sure that there were no people on the island that were missing a feather. There had been two people without feathers—a couple, visiting for their honeymoon. They left after a day, possibly sensing the tension in the air, and the flag was messed with again that night, so Ace knew it wasn't them.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and taking another deep drink of his—what was it, even? It tasted vaguely fruity, almost like cough syrup, but the aftertaste was phenomenal. He tried to remember the name of it and just kept thinking, "Orange Thing", so he gave up.

He was at the only café on Foodvalten, situated near the shore, just far enough away that pirates would probably not get to it while restocking but close enough for potential customers to see it. Ace didn't really care about that; he just liked the view of the water. He'd been coming there often, and the staff—an old man, his wife, and their two daughters—was more than familiar with him.

Ace ignored the openly suspicious stares of the islanders walking by, their not-quite-hostile gazes practically boring holes in his back and burning his skin. He'd never given a concrete reason why he was there, and with the recent trouble with the flag Ace supposed that they had every reason to be suspicious of travelers. As long as he didn't cause any trouble, at least, they would have no reason to kick him off the island.

He hoped.

Sighing, he took another sip of his drink and eyed the entrance to the town, where wooden posts held up Whitebeard's Jolly Roger with pride. Two nights ago, the support poles had been nearly cut through with some kind of hatchet. The townspeople had caught it before the flag fell, but the tension in the air was growing. Ace would have to act soon if he wanted to avoid being run off the island.

"Would you like another drink?"

"Huh?" Ace glanced up at the waitress—the older of the two daughters, but he couldn't remember her name—and swallowed. "No, thanks. I think I'll be heading out for a walk, actually."

She smiled thinly, gripping her small notebook and pen tightly. "Okay."

Ace walked away, whistling and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, and ducked into a side alley right when he heard her shouting that he'd forgotten to pay.

He hadn't forgotten. He just didn't pay.

Ace resumed whistling.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

The sun beat down from above, its oppressive heat washing over the ground in waves.

Ace mused that, had he been a normal human that hadn't eaten a heat-oriented Devil Fruit, he would probably complain about the warm temperature. Since he was fire, however, he didn't really feel the effects of the sun. Plus, the cooling ocean breeze and the shadows provided by the cliffside dwellings' awnings and the cliff's overhangs cooled the temperature by several degrees.

Ace was currently using those shadows to hide from any prying eyes. He'd ditched his overly loud shirt for a dark cloak, and the soft material swished almost silently as he ducked from one patch of darkness to another. He sensed a presence nearby and moved behind a barrel, listening intently to the footsteps that passed within two yards of his hiding place. Then the presence disappeared into a nearby home cut into the cliff and Ace emerged, walking briskly once he was sure no one was looking his way.

His eyes darted restlessly from place to place, checking all corners. To an observer, Ace appeared calm, relaxed even, the only sign of his unrest being his shifting gaze.

He stopped in front of a house with a closed door that looked as though it had seen better days. It had been peppered by salt-laden winds without proper care for years at least, Ace guessed, and the wood looked close to falling apart. Ace only hesitated for a brief second before pushing the door open, using that short moment to check for people inside the small building. There were none, so Ace forged ahead.

The door creaked shut behind him, thin shafts of sunlight lancing between the loosened boards making up the door. They danced across the dust drifting through the air, eventually spilling across the ground in messy pools.

Ace stepped around those pools of light and pushed down the urge to cough, noting the dust that coated absolutely everything in the room. His hand hovered over a stone countertop that had seen better days, but Ace refrained from actually disturbing the dust covering the surface.

There was little he could do about his footprints, but he'd planned ahead and "borrowed" someone's boots that were too big for his feet. It made stealth harder, but anonymity easier to maintain.

"Doesn't look like anyone's lived here in a long time," Ace muttered to himself.

He ducked into a side room, quickly coming to the conclusion that it was empty and just as dusty as the rest of the home. His head came uncomfortably close to the ceiling, but there was little he could do about that. After all, these houses were carved into a cliff; making the ceiling higher wasn't a simple endeavor.

Ace tried to hide a flare of disappointment as he swept through the rest of the house, opening vacant closets and checking empty cupboards just in case there was something he initially missed. He'd really known since he'd walked in and seen the dust, but he was hoping he would stumble across a _something_.

There was nothing. He closed the last cabinet softly, still not willing to disturb the dust any more than absolutely necessary. He didn't want the locals thinking he was a thief as well as an affront to the modern fashion industry. Sure, he'd already dined-and-dashed enough times to get banned from half the restaurants on Foodvalten (in all fairness, there weren't that many).

"This is pointless," Ace muttered. "Might as well go back and report."

Voices reached Ace's ears and he froze, quickly coming to the conclusion that they were coming in his direction. It was highly unlikely the owners would come inside, but Ace wasn't willing to take that risk.

He retraced his footsteps back to the side room, making sure to stay in the footprints so an observer wouldn't be able to tell that Ace had gone back into the room. Then he stepped to the left of the doorway, measuring his breathing and keeping completely still.

The voices came closer, footsteps providing a constant accompanying rhythm. Ace closed his eyes and cursed the fact that he'd had to sneeze for the past four minutes and the itch _wouldn't go away_.

". . . strange, you know?"

"Yeah . . . can't believe . . . happening . . . death wish?"

"Probably. What kind of idiot . . . territory?"

Ace frowned, noting that the two people, whoever they were, were talking about the flag problem. That wasn't good; shaken faith in Whitebeard could grow to be a very big problem if left unchecked.

Though, Ace remembered, he was technically there to keep that in check.

The pirate let out a slow breath as the two people passed by without stopping, though one of them commented on the state of disrepair of the house. Then he hurriedly muffled his sneeze, which felt big enough to blow out his eardrums.

As Ace took his leave, making sure to cover his tracks as best he could. On the way back, he went over what he knew; which, when he thought about it, wasn't much.

The vandal wasn't from the island, wasn't living in any of the empty homes on Foodvalten, and wasn't being reckless with his work.

"I hate playing detective," Ace decided. Then he pictured Luffy standing next to him dressed in stereotypical detective getup, gushing about cool it was to "smoke" his pipe that only blew bubbles. That image brightened Ace's mood considerably and he walked a little faster, paying no heed to the heat waves rising from the narrow streets.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

 _"So you still don't have any leads, yoi?"_

Ace sighed, making a rhythmic _tap-tap-tapping_ noise on the wooden desk he was sitting at with his finger while he talked with Marco on the Den Den Mushi he'd been given. "No. I checked out that empty dwelling I reported about two days ago, but there was nothing. No sign that that anyone'd been there in a long time."

 _"Dusty?"_

"Yeah."

Ace heard Marco's long exhale and could easily picture the first division commander pinching the bridge of his nose. _"Just keep trying, yoi. No more attacks recently, right?"_

"Right. I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

 _"You'll have to keep waiting. They may have caught wind of your daytime job."_

Ace scoffed. "No. I make a great tourist. I've already got half this town telling me to change shirts."

 _"Of course you have, yoi."_

"I'll update you again tomorrow," Ace said, stopping his tapping.

 _"I'll try to contain myself."_

 _Click_.

Ace blew out a breath, tipping back his chair and balancing on two legs while he stared up at the ceiling.

"I'm not cut out for detective work," he muttered. "Sabo, this was always more your thing. You always knew who had the most expensive stuff to steal. I could use that intuition right now."

Not for the first time, Ace pictured Sabo standing nearby, hat tipped back and a grin on his face. _"C'mon, Ace,_ " the imaginary Sabo said encouragingly, _"there's just something missing."_

"The problem is, I don't know what that something is," Ace mused. "I've tried looking around the flag, investigating empty homes, and checking over the residents of this island, but there's nothing. It's frustrating."

 _"You're being impatient as usual,"_ Sabo chided. _"You're trying to find this vandal without looking for clues."_

"Looking for clues? That just gives the person more time to screw with Oyaji's flag."

The imaginary Sabo gave no response and Ace glanced in his direction, noting with little surprise that the boy had vanished, as he tended to do without warning. Having gotten used to it by now, Ace merely went back to his musings, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that Sabo was completely right and that Ace needed to stop trying to solve this problem without going through all the steps.

 _"You're being headstrong again, Ace."_

"Oh, can it, Sabo," Ace said, but he was smiling. He gave up on trying to disregard what his subconscious was telling him. "Fine, I'll start looking for clues. But where to start?"

He could try the port, but he'd been "casually" walking through there almost every day already and the seamen were starting to give him the stink eye. He wouldn't be welcome there again for a few days. The next best place to eavesdrop would be an inn . . . or a café. He probably wouldn't stumble across anything immediately, but that didn't matter. He had time.

Ace was feeling a craving for fruity drinks.

He knew just the place.

* * *

 _A/N_ _Yeah, so I suck at writing mysteries. Can you tell_ _? Anyway, this_ does _relate to the overall plot. Have patience. Also, have a free omake (that I wrote for something else but someone's review reminded me of)!_

 _Reviews:_

 _Indra Senin: This_ is _the main plot. Patience is a virtue, you know._

 _LittleChomper: Oh, that would've thrown everything into disarray._

 _FrostyFall: Don't worry, I think the last chapters will be the best. Honestly, I haven't fully realized how much I've written for this story and I'm hoping that it'll only hit me when I'm done, so I can freak out then._

 _9momentos: Check out the omake!_

 _ **OMAKE** : (Thinking of You)_

 _*note that this is separate from the main story*_

"Here, Lu, stand here. No, to the left. _My_ left. No, no. Here - just - yeah, like that. Perfect."

Ace took a step back, taking in the scene. He and Luffy were standing in front of the proud sign that proclaimed their current location as a marine stronghold. He brought up his hands and formed a rectangle with his fingers, measuring the shot with a critical eye. He adjusted his view so that he just got Luffy - and a little space to the side where Ace would be standing - and then grinned.

"Here, stand here," he told the terrified photographer. "Make sure not to get the bodies in the picture, 'kay?"

"Y-y-y-y-yes s-s-sir," the photographer stammered, his legs shaking so much that it was a miracle he could stay standing. Ace gave him his best smile and then jogged over to Luffy, grabbing two marine caps on the way. He jammed the first one on his own head and gave the second to Luffy.

The younger boy hung his straw hat over his back and put the marine hat on, seemingly uncomfortable with it.

"Just two minutes, Lu, that's it," Ace said encouragingly. "Can you do that?"

"Of course!" Luffy said indignantly. Ace sighed.

"Lu, your neckerchief's screwed up. Here, let me fix it."

Luffy was quiet for the ten seconds it took Ace to fix up his neckerchief, and then he began bouncing in place again. Ace gave him a fond smile before pulling on the vest he'd been carrying over one shoulder. It covered his Whitebeard mark nicely and proudly bore the colors of the Navy.

Luffy wore a similar outfit, though he had opted for a short-sleeved shirt instead of a vest. Both boys did one last once-over of their appearances before standing in front of the sign and beaming at the photographer with their absolute best grins.

Just outside the frame of the picture, the hundreds of marines that Ace and Luffy had beat up to clear the shot lay in various states of unconsciousness or death.

* * *

Garp stared at the letter. His eye twitched.

He read it again. And again. And a third time, just because the first two times weren't registering properly with his brain. Then he read it aloud, because reading it silently was doing nothing.

 _"Dear Gramps,  
_

 _We're having tons of fun as pirates, er, marines! We enjoy sailing on pirate, er, navy ships with other pirates, ah, marines! The Going Merry and the Moby Dick, um, I mean, our marine ships are so great!_

 _ **NOT**!_

 _BEING A PIRATE IS AWESOME, YOU STUFFY OLD GEEZER!_

 _Thinking of you, Portgas D. Ace and Monkey D. Luffy."_

Garp blinked. His eye was twitching again, and he'd run out of snacks ten minutes ago.

He switched his gaze to the picture that had fallen out of the envelope and now rested on the low table. It was of surprisingly high quality and in color, too. It depicted Ace and Luffy dressed like marines, shit-eating grins on their faces, looking exactly like brothers that had joined the Navy together.

Was that a hand in the lower left-hand corner? Was that an _actual_ stronghold?

"Those brats," he growled. "Those little brats..."

Oh, there was nothing in the world that would save them the next time he saw them. Nothing at all.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

 _That's all for today._

 _-RoR_

 _ **Please review.**_


	17. Chapter 17

_Got hit by writer's block for this story, but I'm working through it. Seems like all my stories have been affected by it . . . ah, well, it'll work out. I've got a lot of chapters already written, so it's fine._

* * *

Chapter 17

 _June 10th_

"You're here again?" The waitress asked, raising one eyebrow.

"What can I say?" Ace replied, glancing at the ocean visible between the cliffs that circled the bay and the town carved within them. "I like the view."

He looked back at the waitress and saw her frowning, but didn't comment.

"All right," the waitress said. "Do you want the usual?"

"That would be great. And—" he pointed at an item on the menu—"this sandwich, please."

The waitress blinked, scribbled something in her notebook, took the menu, and walked back into the café. Ace watched her go, a strange expression on his face.

For a few minutes, the undercover pirate simply relaxed in the same way he'd been doing for the past few days. At least the people of Foodvalten were starting to get used to seeing him at the café; their looks weren't any less suspicious, but Ace was beginning to get accustomed to them.

When the waitress came back, she set down Ace's snack (though for most, it would qualify as a full meal) and turned to leave, but Ace cleared his throat.

"Excuse me," the pirate said, "if you don't mind me asking, where are the other people that are normally here?"

The waitress took a few moments to turn around, but when she did she just gave Ace a small, tight smile. "They're just out running some errands. They should be back soon, if you want to talk with my father."

Ace was quick to shake his head, looking slightly abashed. "No, sorry, I didn't mean to imply that I wanted to talk to the owner about you. I was just curious. I'm sorry."

The waitress looked almost embarrassed. "I—it's nothing. Enjoy your meal."

"Wait, one more thing," Ace said.

"Hm?"

"What's your name? I'm Ace D. Spade."

"Torikku Emi."

Ace smiled. "Nice to meet you, Torikku Emi. I hope I haven't been too much trouble this past week. I know people here aren't exactly fans of mine."

Something flashed in Emi's eyes, but otherwise she showed no reaction to Ace's words besides a slight smile in return. "It's fine. You can call me Emi, by the way. With how often my family is here, using the family name doesn't often help."

"And you can call me Spade."

Emi nodded, waved slightly, and walked back into the café, Ace watching her go with a thoughtful expression.

After finishing his sandwich, Ace got up and walked into the café proper, using Observation Haki to check where the waitress was.

She wasn't in the main room, behind the counter, in the small kitchen, or the bathrooms. She'd said that her family would be back soon, but Ace saw no sign of them anywhere near the café. For a moment, Ace wondered whether she'd just been annoyed with him and wanted him to go away and leave her alone, but then raised voices interrupted his thoughts.

The words were muffled by the floorboards but Ace didn't fail to sense the presences of two people in the basement, one of which was undoubtedly Emi.

He didn't recognize the other one.

Putting his stealth skills to the test, Ace made his way to the door to the basement, carefully avoiding any floorboards in danger of squeaking and giving him away. He paused by the door, listening. He could make out vague words, and the speakers were clearly agitated, if not angry, but Ace couldn't tell much else.

The pirate glanced around the restaurant to make sure that no one was watching and then slipped down the stairs, his footfalls near silent.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the basement, the only light coming from a small lantern hanging from the ceiling. Ace's eyes were immediately drawn to the two people in the room, their presences practically glowing in his mind's eye. Now he could understand their words, and understand them clearly.

"—told you, I'm not gonna fucking stop! We had a deal!"

Ace didn't recognize the voice; its owner was a man, and he sounded like he hadn't had enough water to drink. Ace couldn't tell much else; the lighting shadowed his features, though he was clearly taller than Emi.

"I want to break that deal!"

That was, without a doubt, Emi speaking. Ace frowned.

"Why? You were fine with it a week ago!"

"Things changed, okay?"

"Is it that fucking pirate that keeps hanging around your stupid café?"

"I—I don't know for sure that he's a pirate."

"Oh, bull-fucking-shit. He's Fire Fist Ace."

"He doesn't match the picture!"

"They rarely match the damn picture! Now stop trying to back out of this!"

"I won't!"

"Don't tell me you're seriously reconsidering. You're the one that offered in the first place!"

"I made a mistake!"

"Mistake my ass! Listen, you lying bitch, you can either let me stay here like we've been doing, or I'll kill your family. Got it?"

Ace heard Emi gasp. "N-no! You can't drag them into it!"

So the father and younger sister weren't involved. Ace pocketed that information and continued to eavesdrop.

"Watch me."

"I won't let you! I'll tell that pirate—"

"Oh, so you're finally acknowledging that he's a pirate? Are you _really_ gonna tell the big, bad, horrible pirate about me? Are you sure about that? What if he attacks you?"

"He won't!"

"You don't know that! And you're shaking!"

"That doesn't matter! You have one day to get out of here! I don't want to work with you anymore!"

The tension in the room, which had slowly been building as the argument dragged on, skyrocketed. Ace saw the man raise his hand and Emi flinch away, and he acted.

Throwing stealth to the wind, Ace shot down the rest of the stairs and cut between Emi and the man, bringing his hand up and effortlessly catching the punch that would have hit Emi in the face.

"And just what," Ace asked slowly, tightening his grip on the man's fist and feeling the bones shift, "were you about to do?"

"S-Spade?" Emi asked, clearly surprised. Ace glanced at her, and then looked back at the man trying to hide his pain. The temperature in the room seemed to be going up, but if anyone noticed, they didn't comment.

"You're not answering my question," Ace growled, tightening his grip and drawing a pained whimper from the man, whose hateful glare did little to hide how scared he was. "What were you about to do to Emi?"

"G-go to hell," the man wheezed. Abruptly, he used his free hand to grab something hooked around his waist and hit Ace in the stomach with it. The object turned out to be a small baton and Ace went to one knee, wincing and gasping.

"Kairoseki?" The pirate gasped, gritting his teeth while he waited for the effects to wear off. The man grinned and sprinted out of the basement, his footfalls heavy and loud. "Dammit."

"Spade," Emi began, but Ace waved her off.

"Not now. Later."

Then he was gone, following the man that had attacked him.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace burst out of the café, already using Observation Haki to find the man who had only been a few seconds ahead of him. Pinpointing him, Ace took off, avoiding running into the locals as best he could but still bumping into a few of them all the same.

"Sorry!" He called over his shoulder. They gave him dirty looks, but Ace was either ignoring them or wasn't even noticing them in the first place.

The chase lasted for less than a minute; Ace managed to corner the stranger in a back alley, a darkened place where the sun didn't quite reach the ground.

The man was panting, facing the brick wall in front of him and cursing every other breath. Ace stood a few yards away, his eyes narrowed and dangerous.

"Are you the one that's been vandalizing the pirate flag?" Ace asked lowly. He didn't speak loudly; no, his anger was quiet. It cut like a knife, slicing through the air.

"Che." The man turned, his expression one of a man that knew he was doomed but was determined to last as long as he could. "What's it matter to you, bastard?"

"Is that a yes?"

"Maybe it fucking is."

"Is. That. A. Yes."

"Yes! I'm the one that's been fucking with the stupid Whitebeard flag out there! Happy, you asshole? Why do you even care?"

Ace tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing even more. "You said it yourself. I'm Fire Fist Ace." His right fist began to burn, tendrils of flame licking the air around the skin. "You're messing with my family when you mess with that flag. You're messing with _me._ "

The man's eyes widened, as though he was finally realizing the severity of his mistake. "Shit—I thought—"

Ace took a step forward. "You weren't sure I was that guy on the poster? Well, I am. Now that I'm introduced, who the hell are you?"

"I'm not going to say! Go to hell!"

"Been there," Ace drawled, drawing his dagger. "Didn't like the atmosphere. Came back. Now _tell me_."

"No!"

Ace took another step forward, the rest of his body beginning to burn. "I'm not giving you another chance, vandal."

"Shut up!"

Realizing that the man wasn't going to freely give up the information, Ace grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up, slamming him up against the wall. The sudden impact shocked the man's baton out of his hands, leaving him unarmed. Ace's eyes burned and the man couldn't meet his gaze for more than a second at a time, and anyone could see the way the man was sweating and nervous.

Ace brought the dagger up and the point rested against the man's throat. The man swallowed and the tip dug into his skin, drawing a small drop of blood.

"Tell me," Ace said, his voice demanding nothing less than absolute obedience.

"Go to hell." But the man's voice was shaking.

Ace tightened his grip on the man's shirt and the material began to smoke ominously. Already the man's skin was starting to burn and blister from his proximity to Ace.

"If you don't tell me in the next five seconds," Ace warned, "I'm going to melt your eyelids shut. Then I'll burn off your arms. And your legs. And, if you still insist on being so incredibly obstinate, I'll melt your lips together so no one can hear you scream."

Now the man's face was white with fear and his skin was glistening with sweat.

"Five."

"You w-wouldn't."

"Four."

"Don't you have any honor?!"

"I'm a pirate. Three."

"Leave me alone, you sick bastard!"

"Two."

"Misu! My fucking name is Misu now get the hell away from me!"

The man had his eyes squeezed shut and his chest was heaving, so he didn't see Ace let out a slow breath of relief and let the aggression mostly bleed out of his expression. Then the pirate loosened his grip, extinguished his flames, and let the man slide back to the ground. The man was still in shock and didn't even try to support himself, instead practically collapsing against the wall.

"Misu, huh?" Ace sheathed his dagger after wiping it off and then ran a hand through his hair, absently wishing he had his hat; he'd had to leave it in his room because people were starting to give him odd looks over it. "Why are you here, Misu?"

"G-get away from me," Misu said weakly, no longer bearing any resemblance to the cocky man that had been threatening Emi mere minutes beforehand.

Ace crouched in front of him, brows knitted. "You've basically agreed to tell me everything. Why are you here?"

"I—I was told to. I wanted to."

"Who ordered you to come here? And did they order you to vandalize the flag?"

"My captain. Yes, but I wanted to do that anyway."

"Captain?" Ace felt anger stirring within him. "You're a pirate? Then you know what that flag means."

Misu mumbled something under his breath.

"Say it again. Louder."

"Didn't think Whitebeard Pirates would actually come. Just wanted . . . just wanted to challenge a Yonko."

"Listen," Ace said, "you're not going to challenge a bear by poking at it with a twig. This accomplishes nothing."

"Don't care."

"Who's your captain? What's your crew?"

The man hesitated. Ace waited patiently until he spoke. "Uragiri. Captain Uragiri. We—" he swallowed. "We're the Brink Lightning Pirates."

And then, before Ace could react, Misu reached forward, grabbed Ace's dagger, and drove it through his own heart.

* * *

 _A/N Plot twist! Anyway, Misu pretty much translates to "mistake". Sorry, dude, you were screwed from the start._

 _Reviews:_

 _Reminiscence Awry: He wouldn't be banned from_ every _store. Just most of them. Probably._

 _mutteringsandramblings: *shrugs*_

 _xxXbladeangelXxx: I dunno._ _I can probably do a few more. It depends if I can think of any._

 _Everyone that commented on the o_ _make: Thank you!_

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	18. Chapter 18

_And suddenly, I realize the chapter I've just finished is the final chapter. (No, this is not the final chapter.) Updates_ _will probably be close to every other day from here on out._

* * *

Chapter 18

Ace blinked as Misu slumped, the man's muscles going slack and blood leaking sluggishly from his mouth and from around the knife's blade.

Ace didn't say anything; his expression stayed oddly blank while he drew the knife from Misu's already-cooling body. He cleaned it methodically and then stood, sheathing the blade again.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"He's dead," Ace said in response to Emi's unasked question.

"Oh my God," Emi whispered, her hands going to her mouth in shock. "Are you being serious?"

"Very." The pirate resumed looking through Misu's belongings, which were stashed in a corner of the café's basement. Emi stood at the foot of the stairs, watching Ace with wide eyes. She seemed unsure of Ace, and uncertain as to whether he was dangerous to her or not. "Ah! Found it!"

"Eh?"

Ace held up his prize triumphantly. It was eternal pose, worn and battered but still clearly functional. He pocketed the prize and turned to Emi, hooking his thumbs on his belt and assuming a relaxed stance.

"So."

Emi swallowed, suddenly very aware of the stairs at her back. "So."

"I said earlier that we'd talk later. This is later. I don't want to be rude but I want to know why you were hiding a pirate that was vandalizing my crew's flag."

"It's—it's a long story."

"Not to sound cliché, but I've got time."

"I have to run the café—"

"I flipped the sign to 'closed'. You don't have to worry about being interrupted."

Emi's face was pale, but she hadn't tried to flee, which Ace took as a good sign. He'd taken a leap of faith by letting her stay by the stairs while he looked through Misu's belongings. There had been a chance that she would try to run, but Ace had heard her trying to kick Misu out so he'd believed she wouldn't.

"W-when I was very young," Emi said, stumbling over her words, "I was exploring the forest on the b-back of this island when s-some pirates came. Th-they couldn't do anything b-because this island is under Whitebeard's p-protection, b-but they explored the island a-and found me."

She began knitting her hands nervously, her gaze cast to the floor. "I-if my dad hadn't—if he hadn't gone looking for me, they would've—they would've done something horrible." She wiped her eyes.

"So you stopped trusting Whitebeard's protection?"

Emi made a noncommittal noise and gesture, still not looking Ace in the eye. "That's not it exactly. I just—I wondered why no one ever bothered to investigate, you know?"

Ace frowned. "But nothing happened."

"Something would've happened!"

Ace put his hands up. "My apologies. I'm being insensitive. But—you should understand, Emi, that Oy—er, Whitebeard—has many, many territories. Isolated incidents can't always be investigated."

"But recurring incidents!"

Realization dawned on Ace. "You did this to get our attention? You wanted us to come to Foodvalten?"

"I wanted to see what pirate could scare other pirates away with just a flag," Emi explained quietly. "All my father had to do was invoke the mere hint of Whitebeard's wrath and those dirty pirates were gone within the hour. I wanted to know."

Ace sighed, putting his hands down. "Well, here I am." He grinned crookedly. "I hope I'm not disappointing."

Emi smiled shakily. "I thought you'd be bigger. You're seriously Fire Fist Ace?"

"If I wasn't, this tattoo would be pretty awkward." Ace's expression suddenly brightened. "Oh, right! I can take this shirt off now!"

Emi's face went red within the span of a heartbeat. "Wh-what?"

"I don't like wearing shirts," Ace explained while pulling off the horrendously colored piece of fabric. "I just had to wear one to cover up this." He pointed to the massive tattoo on his back that proudly proclaimed his loyalty to the Whitebeard Pirates.

"I think," Emi said, her voice small, "that you might actually be a Whitebeard Pirate."

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace waved to Emi, seeing her dad and younger sister in the background, working within the café. The pirate highly doubted that he'd be seeing Emi again, but they wouldn't be parting on a bad note.

The trip back to his room was short and uneventful, though now Ace was getting far more stares—most ranging between dubious and incredulous—thanks to the fact that his Whitebeard tattoo was now proudly on display for the world to see, as it usually was. Ace was happy to admit that the air felt better without a shirt getting in the way.

He made it to his room in record time and checked that the door was locked and that there were no eavesdroppers before pulling out the Den Den Mushi Marco had given him and quickly making the call.

 _Click._

 _"Hello?"_

"Marco, I found the guy that did it. His name was Misu; he was a member of the Brink Lightning Pirates, who apparently wanted to annoy Oyaji for no reason other than because they felt like it."

The other end of the line was quiet for a moment, though Ace could hear the faint scratching of a pen. Then Marco sighed.

 _"It figures that it's a pirate crew. Do you know where the main crew is? And is it safe to assume that Misu is now dead?"_

"I got an eternal pose that leads to—hold on," Ace pulled out the eternal pose and checked the label, "Fukitsuna Island. And yeah. He's dead."

 _"Was it a conspiracy?"_

"No. Only one islander was involved, and she had a reason, though it was stupid. I set her straight." He hoped.

 _"Good to hear. You have that Vivre Card on you, right?"_

Ace rummaged through his pockets. "Yeah."

 _"Go to the island and investigate. Discourage those idiots from messing with our family."_

"Any means necessary?"

 _"Whatever you'd like. I'm not going to stop you."_ Distant voices came in on the line. _"Hold on."_

Ace waited while Marco talked with someone; it took a few minutes, which Ace spent examining the eternal pose, gently tapping the casing around the needle and watching said needle spin slightly before returning to its original position and staying there.

 _"All right. Apparently Fukitsuna Island is almost a day's journey from where we are now, but should only be an hour or so from where you are. We'll be there soon."_

"I'll organize a banquet after I raise hell there," Ace said easily. He could almost picture Marco smirking.

 _"Sure you will. Good luck."_

 _Click_.

"Always likes having the last word," Ace muttered, hanging up, putting the large Den Den Mushi in its special bag, and beginning the long, arduous task of repacking everything else. At least he got to put his hat back on—and wash off the makeup.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace felt a strange weight lift from his chest when he left Foodvalten. It wasn't out of any sense of responsibility or a real, identifiable emotion; he simply grew uncomfortable if he stayed in one place for too long.

The sun was setting, turning the waters brilliant hues of pink, red, and gold. Ace guided himself by the stars and his eternal pose, keeping one eye out for sudden changes in the weather. He wasn't as good as most of the navigators on the Moby Dick, but he could hold his own in the New World (it helped that he was in such a small boat and carried the powers of the Mera Mera no Mi).

"Fukitsuna Island," Ace muttered, staring at the horizon. He'd never heard of it before, despite its close location to Foodvalten. None of the islanders had mentioned it, so evidently they weren't familiar with it either. That meant that it wasn't on normal trading routes, and if things went on there, they didn't reach the news' ears.

Ace smirked slightly. "At this rate, the island is going to turn out to be some lame, fog-covered, gloomy place."

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"It really is a lame, fog-covered, gloomy place," Ace said, not even bothering to hide the disbelief and disappointment he felt. "That's . . . that's just . . . so . . . cliché. Disappointing."

He'd taken to talking to himself when sailing alone. Ace knew that the others would probably make fun of them if they knew, but he didn't really care. It was calming, and helped him to organize his thoughts. Or validate said thoughts.

Although, Fukitsuna Island was not the worst island Ace had ever had to set foot on, so he supposed that he had no reason to complain.

"The fog does provide good cover, though," Ace muttered while lowering the amount of flame he was pouring into Striker's engine so that the craft was almost drifting across the waters, silent and undetectable. Ace wasn't even sure if the pirates—if this was indeed their base—were smart enough to post guards. Then again, the island was almost impossible to find without an eternal pose thanks to the fog that covered the water for almost a mile out in every direction. It was too easy to get lost and sail right past.

The fog was so thick that Ace didn't realize that he'd reached shore until Striker ran aground. Quickly cutting power to the engine, Ace adjusted his hat, checked his pockets over, and stepped out, frowning slightly at the draining feeling the water provided. It was only up to his knees, however, and wasn't enough to noticeably weaken him. Ace then pulled Striker onto the beach, making sure that the rising tide wouldn't drag the small boat out to sea.

A judicious use of Observation Haki showed that there were no other people nearby, so Ace quickly walked across the beach and ducked into a small patch of scrubby bushes. He frowned and looked for more suitable cover, but there were no trees that he could see.

"Maybe the main port is on the other side of the island," Ace muttered, squinting to try to look through the fog.

Sighing, Ace set off, the fog already clinging to him and soaking his shorts.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"Where the hell did they get all that wood?"

Ace was staring. He couldn't help it. The fog had cleared slightly, permitting the commander a view of the pirate's fort. Their giant, wooden fort. On an island that didn't have any trees that Ace could see.

"Did they seriously get all that wood from a different island and bring it here? That's just wasteful."

Then again, Ace mused, wood burned easily. The fort, as dumb as it seemed, was actually an advantage for him.

Deciding that there wasn't anything to be gained from watching anymore, Ace slid down the shallow slope leading to the base and moved as casually and confidently as he could. First appearances were vital for something like this, and Ace wanted these pirates to think that he was one of them until it was too late.

The pirates were apparently as dumb as they got on the Grand Line, because Ace actually managed to get through the main gate before one of them stopped him.

"Hey, haven't seen you around before," a man said. He easily dwarfed Ace in size, but the Whitebeard Pirate gave his flabby stomach a doubtful look.

"Yeah, just got back from a long-term mission. You know, the one on Foodvalten Island?"

Ace didn't know if everyone was in the loop about that mission. He just hoped it would buy him a few more steps into the center of the base. The closer he was to the middle, the greater the chance that he would catch all the pirates before they had a chance to escape the burning structure. He didn't want one side having the advantage over the others.

Burn everything equally. That was one of his principles.

"Oh, yeah. Back already?"

Ace was suddenly very aware of the shirt he'd lifted from an inattentive pirate's bags and the tattoo hidden beneath. "Yeah. Whitebeard sent some asshole to investigate and he was getting way too close. I had to bail, but I'll be going back soon."

"Huh. Whitebeard actually sent someone?"

Ace nodded. "I didn't get a good look at him, but I think it was one of the commanders."

The pirate let out a low whistle. "So that's why you didn't want to stick around. Well, I guess you should talk to Captain then and let him know what happened."

"Yeah, I should."

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace was stuck between face palming and laughing out loud. These idiots had quite literally delivered him to their boss, and the entire time they had been under the impression that he was the guy that had been sent to Foodvalten Island. Clearly Misu hadn't been very high on the crew's social ladder, because no one seemed to know him personally. It would explain why he was sent on what could be considered a suicide mission to one of Whitebeard's territories with the express purpose of being an ass.

He still wasn't over the fact that the fortress was made of wood, but he was slowly coming to terms with it. Even their captain's chair was made of wood; were they overcompensating for the fact that they weren't on the wooden deck of a ship?

That brought Ace to another point. These pirates had given up their free-roaming nature just to harass other pirates. It was stupid, and Ace had half a mind to teach them a lesson just because of that. Pirates weren't meant to stay in one place.

But he was here to kick their asses for an entirely different reason, so he waited with as much patience as he could muster while the captain of these idiots looked him over.

"What's your name, boy?"

Ace's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The captain didn't even know the name of the man he'd practically sent to die? Disgraceful. Sickening. Still, Ace mustered his voice.

"Misu."

"Hm." The captain gave Ace a long, considering look. Then he let out a huff. "Insolent brat. Why did you come back?"

"I was on the verge of discovery—"

"Why. Did you. Come. Back?"

"I—"

"Silence!"

 _But you're the one asking me questions_ , Ace wanted to say, but he stayed silent.

"Captain Uragiri! Captain!" A runner burst through the doors, waving a letter in one hand. "Captain!"

"What is it? Spit it out already, you incompetent fool!"

"W—We've heard that a commander came to Foodvalten Island and discovered our operation there."

"That's why there's another incompetent fool standing right there," Captain Uragiri snarled. "Continue!"

"Er, well, our man operating on that island was killed."

The captain's gaze turned to Ace. Ace smiled and bowed low, casually slipping off his shirt when he straightened. He saw the captain's eyes widen in horror, saw the messenger take a step back in shock.

"Nice to meet you. I'm here to kick your asses."

* * *

 _A/N Uragiri translates to betrayal. Yeah, Google Translate! (Used cautiously)_

 _Review(s):_

 _9momentos: Nah. This isn't canon, and the ending I wanted wouldn't've worked if Teach was behind it. It's before his betrayal, anyway._

 _Hey, guess what? Omake!_

 ** _The Science of Naming_**

 _*again, separate from the main story*_

"So, I've been wondering," Ace said, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands, "who chooses our pirate crew names?"

"We do, duh!" Luffy replied.

"It depends," Marco put in.

"Who gives a shit?" offered Kid.

"Why am I even here?" asked Law.

"It's for the sake of science," Ace stated brusquely. "Seriously. Luffy, your name was a mix of you and the navy. They saw your straw hat and the symbol on your ship and decided on the Straw Hat Pirates."

"Oyaji picked his name, but the navy came up with the identifier on all its own," Marco said. "It wasn't complicated, yoi. His mustache is prominent."

"It's my fuckin' name," Kid muttered. "Why do I need to be here, again? I've got better shit to do."

"While I hate admitting that I'm thinking like him," Law added, indicated the irate redheaded pirate next to him, "I agree. I don't see why I'm here. I picked the name of my crew, and the navy was forced to acknowledge it. May I leave now?"

"Of course not," Ace said. "We've got to brainstorm. There has to be a common denominator."

"The common denominator is that you haven't slept in four days and are bending the rules of time and space with sheer force of will, yoi," Marco muttered.

"Wasn't your first crew's name just a stupid pun or some shit?" Kid asked, looking at Ace. Ace's face went red.

"No."

"It totally was."

"It was," Marco put in.

"When did this become about me?"

"Shishishishi! It's 'cause you're silly, Ace!"

" _I'm_ silly? Lu, get over here!"

"No!"

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

 _Next time is gonna be fun._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	19. Chapter 19

_Oh man, I have to start preparing my bunker. Better to be too early than too late. (also holyfuckinshit man an author I really like just favorited/followed this story I'm freakin out)_

* * *

Chapter 19

Captain Uragiri raised one eyebrow, trying to hide his earlier expression of horror. "Don't act so cocky, insolent fool. You're in the middle of our fort; just what do you think you'll be able to accomplish?"

Ace grinned as unsettlingly as he was able and raised one hand. "A few words of advice for you, _captain_." His raised hand turned to flame, heat radiating off it in waves. "Don't piss off my family, or me. And never build a completely wooden fortress."

"N-no way!" The messenger stammered taking a few—pointless, in Ace's opinion—steps back. "You can't be _him_ , can you?"

"Who?" Captain Uragiri asked, frowning.

"Fire F-F-Fist A-Ace!"

"It's been fun," Ace said, taking his stance, "but I'd hate to outstay my welcome. I'll be taking my leave—and your heads."

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace casually dusted off his hat, making sure that all the ashes were gone from the brim. He would also have to clean off his boots later, since they were covered with ash and remnants of the burned-down fortress. The structure had long since collapsed from the inferno that Ace had set off within it only minutes earlier and was now nothing more than a smoldering, smoking wreck. It looked almost pathetic.

The second division commander blew out a breath, only to start coughing a second later when he tried to inhale. Apparently the island's air hadn't quite cleared yet, so Ace covered his mouth and began walking back to where he'd put Striker. Hopefully, the air would be clearer by the shore.

It was, and Ace checked over Striker to make sure that no enterprising pirate had gotten it into his head to vandalize the small ship. Fortunately, he saw no signs of tampering, and all the supplies he'd left Foodvalten Island with were still there.

Ace took his time setting up an impromptu camp on the beach and, when that was done, he indulged himself by eating the food he'd been anticipating the entire time he'd been burning down the fort.

It was still foggy, but Ace trusted his skills with Observation Haki enough to not worry about any surprise attacks. There weren't any pirates left that were capable of setting up a sneak attack, anyway. Ace had made sure of that, though his brothers and sisters probably wouldn't be happy with the fact that he hadn't left any for them.

So Ace passed an hour or two like that, relaxed and at ease while he waited for his family to arrive.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"I'm telling you, Marco, there was no way for me to leave anything for you," Ace said. "It was a wooden fort! Once it started burning, there was no stopping it."

Marco sighed. He was standing on the beach with Ace. The Moby Dick was anchored some distance offshore, while landing parties had already begun to swarm the island. If any of the pirates under Captain Uragiri had managed to escape, they would be rounded up and properly punished shortly.

There was no escaping the wrath of the Whitebeard Pirates.

"Whatever you say, Ace. So, one more time. The captain's name is Captain Uragiri and he leads the Brink Lightning Pirates, all of whom have been or are being properly punished. You destroyed their main base and—how you managed this is beyond me—'accidentally' set fire to their small fleet of ships, which were docked on the opposite side of the island in a cove."

"Things may have gotten out of hand during the chase."

"Chase? You never mentioned a—"

"Marco!" Haruta called, waving from within the ashes of the fort. "We found the treasure room! You should see some of this stuff!"

Marco waved in acknowledgement and turned to face the second division commander, but realized too late that Ace had taken advantage of his momentary distraction and fled.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"Ace, looks like the marines caught wind of what you did on Fukitsuna Island."

Ace glanced at the crew member who had spoken. "Yeah."

"They just can't decide on a high enough number for your bounty," another crew member muttered jokingly. Ace grinned.

He was feeling pretty good. It was only a day after the one-sided thrashing Ace delivered to the Brink Lightning Pirates, and the Whitebeard Pirates had settled into their usual steady rhythm of camaraderie and family bonds with ease despite the brief interruption.

Marco and Thatch had been pretty busy documenting all the loot they'd taken from the fort—there had been a surprisingly large amount—so Ace hadn't seen much of them lately. Still, his spirits were high.

Plus, Thatch had mentioned in passing that he had something cool to show Ace. He'd wanted the reveal to be a surprise, and so Ace and other curious pirates had gathered on the deck of the Moby Dick to await the reveal.

Ace heard the sound of feet on the wooden deck and glance dup, seeing Thatch approaching. The fourth division commander had a grin on his face.

"Ace, I found something interesting!" He declared, holding up the object in his hand.

Ace felt his blood freeze.

Purple. Swirls decorating the surface. A small cluster of green leaves on the top.

The Yami Yami no Mi.

The beginning of the end.

Had the Brink Lightning Pirates really been the raid during which Thatch found the fruit? He didn't remember that, hadn't really thought about the events leading up to it—

Had this really been the beginning? He thought he had more time, he thought—

No, this couldn't be it—

But it was, wasn't it? He couldn't tear his eyes away—

Ace was in shock. His thoughts were disjointed, incomplete. He was having difficulty focusing on the conversation, but another member of the crew had picked up the slack.

"Isn't that a Devil Fruit?"

"I don't know what fruit it is yet, though," Thatch said, glancing down at it with a frown.

Ace didn't even turn when he felt the sudden surge of . . . he couldn't identify it, but it felt dark, behind him.

"Oh, looks like there's gonna be a storm tonight," a navigator muttered. "Ame, I think I'll need your help with navigation later."

Just like that, the strange, almost frozen quality to the air shattered. Movement returned all at once and Ace was left alone, still staring at the spot Thatch had stood. He wanted to move, wanted to call out and warn Thatch, but his limbs were stiff and his lips were numb.

Was this why he had come back? Just so he could freeze?

No, he was Portgas D. Ace, commander of the second division of the Whitebeard Pirates, feared across the Blue Seas and the Grand Line, infamous among the marines and pirates alike, and above all of that he was an older brother and Luffy would be targeted— _Luffy_ would be targeted, his innocent younger brother that didn't deserve any of this, and attacked and hurt—if he didn't get this shit together and—

"Ace?"

Ace blinked, focusing on Marco. "Marco?"

The older man took in Ace's pale face, his shaking hands, the way he hadn't moved an inch since Thatch showed off his discovery, and came to the correct conclusion in less than a second.

"Let's go," he said—ordered, practically, because Ace wasn't responding to much else—and grabbed Ace by the arm. "We're talking to Thatch. He needs to know."

"What if he—"

"Trust your family," Marco said, his tone borderline reproachful.

"But—" Ace swallowed and leaned on Marco for support, his body feeling strangely heavy. "I saw him dead, Marco." His voice was barely loud enough to hear. "Splayed out on the floor, his blood on the deck—"

"Not another word," Marco commanded. "That won't happen, Ace, and you know it. You're stressed because this has been your entire mission for over a month now. Don't get cold feet now."

Ace stared blankly ahead for a few seconds and then took a deep breath. "Okay, yeah, I'm okay. I'm—" he grit his teeth and made a visible effort to push back his memories of Thatch's body splayed out on the deck. When he opened his eyes again, he was the same, determined, confident pirate Marco had come to know.

No, not entirely the same; there was a new steel to Ace's expression, a new resolve that hadn't been there before.

Marco hid a smile. It seemed that his lost brother had finally found land.

The two arrived quickly at Thatch's door, which was closed.

"Thatch?" Marco knocked on the door loudly, keeping one eye on Ace all the while. "Open up, we need to talk."

The door opened and Thatch stood in its place, a small grin on his face when he took in the two standing before him. "Oh? Marco, are you finally willing to admit it? And Ace, I'm a little put out that you haven't made this more obvious, or I never would've made those advances—"

" _Thatch_."

Instantly picking up on the tone in Marco's voice, Thatch sobered and stepped to the side. "Come in."

It only took the three commanders a few seconds to get situated. When they were ready, Thatch crossed his arms.

"So, what's up?"

"That," Marco said simply, pointing to the Devil Fruit resting on Thatch's desk. Thatch raised one eyebrow.

"What about it? If you want it, you can have it; I don't think I'm going to be eating it." Thatch's gaze drifted over to Ace. "You okay? You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," Ace said. "Thatch . . . you need to hide the fruit."

"What?"

"Someone's going to try to steal it."

Now Thatch was confused. "Steal it? Why? Everyone knows they could just ask."

Ace took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Thatch, you're going to have to trust me and believe what I say, no matter how weird and stupid it sounds."

Thatch glanced at Marco, possibly looking for an explanation, but found the same determined expression on his face as well.

"I came from the future—only a few months, really, but a lot happened. The event that set off the entire shitstorm was your death, Thatch. You died—were murdered—over your Devil Fruit, and the man responsible escaped this ship and wreaked havoc on the Grand Line with his new powers. He went after my little brother, and we fought."

Here Ace paused, mouth twisting into a mix of a grimace and a scowl. "It ended in my death."

It had taken him many days to come to the solid conclusion that he had, in fact, died. Ace had been pretty sure the entire time that he'd been dead in that dark place, but he hadn't quite been able to come to grips with it because he'd wanted to live. Now, however, he had a chance to fix it, and could acknowledge that, in the future, he'd fucked up royally.

(He'd betrayed Luffy, left him alone, because he was such a shitty brother in the end. But he'd fix it. Luffy wouldn't be left on his own.)

Thatch blinked, and in that instant he seemed to grow into his position as fourth division commander; the lax head chef persona vanished entirely, and he was frowning heavily. "Ace, who is it? Who does this?"

Ace and Marco exchanged a glance and then Ace said, "Teach."

"The man from your division?"

"Yeah."

"He's the one that was up for the promotion to second division commander before Ace," Marco clarified, just in case Thatch hadn't quite gotten it yet.

"Does Oyaji know?"

"I'm going to tell him after Teach is stopped," Ace said.

"All right." Thatch stood up. "Let's go get him. We'll need to catch him by surprise, though, since he's strong enough to be offered Ace's position. Is it too late to get the help of the other commanders?"

"Thatch, wait," Marco said. "Sit down."

"We need to catch him in the act," Ace explained. "Or I'm going to sound like I'm insane and targeting my own family." He looked away. "If you don't want to be bait that's fine; we can think of something else."

"Of course I'll do it."

"Eh?"

"Of course I'll do it," Thatch repeated. "I'll be the best damn bait this ship's ever seen."

Marco smiled slightly. "Good. I'm going to go talk to the other commanders. Ace, you fill him in on the plan."

"Got it."

* * *

 _A/N Here there be plot._

 _Reviews:_

 _Indra Senin: Now._

 _9momentos: Yeah, kinda._

 _NikZkinE: Ye of little faith._

 _Guest: Your favorite? Damn, now I'm grinning like an idiot. Thank you! And the ending won't be as bittersweet as you're expecting! (I hope, anyway)_

 _I can say with pretty much 99% certainty that there are fewer than seven chapters left._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	20. Chapter 20

_I'm not sure whether you guys are going to love this chapter or hate where I leave it._

* * *

Chapter 20

Walk.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Breathe.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Breathe.

Left. Right. Left. Turn.

Inhale.

Left. Right. Left.

Exhale.

Ace was finding it more and more difficult to keep his expression amicable, or even something approaching neutral. Even the thought that he had the full support of every commander on the Moby Dick—some of the most powerful pirates in the world and his _family_ —was doing little to alleviate his anxiety.

Walk.

He couldn't get the image of Thatch splayed out on the deck out of his head. The blood pooling around his body, the grotesque hole where there should have been unbroken skin—

Inhale. Exhale.

But he wasn't going to let that happen again; no matter what, it wasn't. Going. To. Happen. Teach wouldn't win. Not this time. Never again.

Breathe.

Ace passed Izo, who wore his expression like a mask of stone to hide the burning anger he had demonstrated when Marco spoke to him. No one was pleased with the suggestion that Teach was going to try to betray them all. At the same time, no one had tried to deny it. They were a family above all else, and if one of their brothers came forward with troubling news, it was their job to check it out.

Ace kept his eyes fixed straight ahead and barely reacted when lightning flashed outside. The storm had been brewing all day, and of course it was only breaking now.

The drumming of the rain against the ship, usually soothing for Ace, only made him tenser. What if he missed hearing something important because of it? What if Teach had noticed his strange behavior and changed his plan? What if Teach attacked _Ace_? What if—

Ace shook his head.

It was getting late. Ace went through his usual nighttime motions, checking in with his division and acting as though everything was perfectly, utterly, painfully normal. Once his tasks were done, he walked back to his room and went inside. He eyed the bed for a few seconds and then went to his desk. He was too keyed up to even try to pretend sleeping tonight.

Still, he made sure that his room was dark, just in case Teach wanted to check that Ace wouldn't interfere before he tried to kill Thatch. After all, Ace had been sleeping by now originally, and he and Thatch were close. Teach was paranoid, and Ace wasn't willing to risk him discovering an inconsistency in how things were supposed to be.

Ace stretched his Observation Haki to its limits and was now doubly grateful that he'd been practicing it more and more recently.

Seconds crawled by, reluctantly turning into minutes that dragged on just as slowly.

Lightning flashed in the sky and Ace spent his time counting the seconds between each strike while his fingers tapped restlessly against his desk. He was stuck in a loop between anxiety and dread, a feeling of wanting to get this entire ordeal over with yet worrying what would happen when it was said and done. He'd come from a future that ended in his death, and he _knew_ what would happen in that timeline, but now it was different.

Now, Teach was going to die, not Thatch. What would that difference change?

Ace blew out a breath.

"Screw it," he decided, standing. He wasn't going to stew in his own emotions like this; it wasn't helping anything.

And since the universe was apparently in a good mood, Ace felt the two presences he'd been fixated on for hours meet and begin to move.

His window of time was diminishing now, and diminishing quickly. He had to go, _now_.

Ace threw open his door and sprinted down the narrow hallway, his focus shrinking to those two familiar presences. He skidded around one corner and hurtled through the corridor, years of being on the ship guiding his muscles while his mind focused on far more important thoughts.

Sparks began to trail behind him, briefly illuminating the dim interior of the ship before fading to darkness. Ace wasn't even aware he was doing it.

The two presences—Teach and Thatch—began moving towards the mess hall. Ace had less than a minute to get to them.

He ran faster, silently cursing the fact that he couldn't just bust through some walls like he used to whenever Whitebeard foiled Ace's assassination attempts. His feet pounded against the wooden floor, skillfully avoiding the creakiest planks and navigating around the raised boards that always tripped less experienced crewmembers.

Closer, closer, closer, _not close enough_ —

Other presences getting nearer, closing in, _not fast enough_ —

Flames dancing along his shoulders, burning, blazing, _not hot enough_ —

A knife rising, reflecting harsh light from the storm raging outside, _rising too fast—_

Mouth opening, yelling, screaming, _not loud enough_ —

Ace grit his teeth, threw all his doubts and worries and anxieties to the wind and reached into the well of simmering anger he'd kept covered all this time, waiting for the right moment to erupt.

He yanked the cover off and heat and energy and rage poured into his veins, pushing his muscles past their limit and allowing Ace to leap into the air, snarling with only one name on his lips, said like the poison it was:

" _Teach_!"

In that half second before Ace hit Teach, when he was still in the air, poised yet so full of anger his eyes practically glowed with fury, flames burst from his back and formed the wings he'd spent so long preparing, so long painstakingly making sure every detail was perfect, so long practicing.

They burned brilliantly, taking up the entire width of the hallway and casting harsh shadows, silhouetting all of Ace save for his expression, still set in a look so fearsome Teach felt it before he even turned around.

In that instant, while Teach was turning, Marco moved to stand next to Thatch, blue flames crackling and contrasting with the flames already pouring off Ace.

In that instant, the other commanders flooded the hall, blocking off exits and pulling out weapons, seeing the treachery that had been hidden from them for so long.

In that instant, lightning flashed outside, the harsh light breaking through a window and illuminating the entire scene with a blue glow.

In that instant, Thatch pulled out his swords, his eyes hard and full of suspicion.

In that instant, the world held its breath while one man prepared to change the course of destiny, permanently.

Never one to be held still, time broke free of its restraints and rolled forward. Ace's feet connected with Teach's face, sending the larger man flying back into the waiting arms of Jozu, who held Teach fast while Haruta snapped handcuffs on him before Teach could so much as register who had kicked him.

Ace's wings vanished as quickly as they had appeared and the young man hit the floor and rolled, coming to his feet and keeping one fist alight just in case Teach tried anything.

The knife Teach had been planning to stab Thatch in the back with clattered against the wooden planks of the floor, looking deceptively plain with its clean, shining blade.

Ace wanted to take his revenge on Teach; he wanted to make the man pay for all the suffering he had put Luffy through, but Marco and Thatch had made a combined effort to talk him out of it. They wanted Teach caught alive, after all.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Luffy fell out of his hammock on the Going Merry, hitting the floor with a muffled thud. Thanks to his rubber body, it didn't hurt at all, but the impact forced him out of his sleepy daze, if only for a moment.

He looked around, a strange feeling hovering just outside of his ability to identify it.

Then he mentally shrugged, climbed back into his hammock, and went to sleep, but not before checking that everyone in his crew was safe and sound.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Far away, on an unknown island in a barely-known stretch of sea, a man paused mid-stride, blinking his blue eyes in confusion. The woman walking beside him hesitated as well, glancing at her companion.

"Sabo? What's wrong?"

The blond shook his head and kept walking. "Nothing. Just a weird feeling."

" _You're_ weird."

"I am not!"

* * *

 _A/N Yeah, so Ace had his badass moment, Luffy was a lovable dork, and Sabo does exist. So does Koala._

 _Reviews:_

 _9momentos: Yeah, I really don't like Teach as a character or a villain either. My personal fav is definitely Crocodile with Doflamingo a close second._

 _Gamma Cavy: Oh, that's good. I was worried that Ace's reaction was a little OOC. Yeah, it just slipped his mind. He hadn't really paid attention to the events leading up to the fruit's discovery the first time 'round either._

 _OnePieceDoesExist: I think you'll enjoy the ending, though._

 _Guest: Saaaaaaaaame. Can you tell?_

 _LittleChomper: Maaaybe._

 _Guest: I've already got the rest of the story typed out. It's a really nice feeling, actually, to know I'm pretty much finished._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	21. Chapter 21

_I should really be writing_ Rewind _, but . . . here I am. God dammit, writer's block!_

* * *

Chapter 21

"I'm not kidding," Thatch said, his hands still near his swords despite the fact that Teach was already locked away and awaiting his death sentence from Whitebeard, the only acceptable penalty for the actions he had been about to take. "You looked like some kind of demon with those hellish burning wings of yours."

It was early the next morning and all of the commanders were on edge, though none of them was willing to admit it. After all, many of them had just seen one of their own turn traitor right before their eyes; to them, such an act was unthinkable and therefore all the more jarring.

Ace scratched the back of his neck. "I wasn't planning on bringing them out like that for everyone to see. It just happened."

"And it looked completely badass. Demonic, but badass."

"Demon?" Marco asked, walking up to the two and clearly having only picked up on part of the conversation. The first division commander looked tired; he had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was unkempt, but neither Ace nor Thatch was one to talk. "I was thinking something else."

"Like what?"

"Avenging angel," Marco said simply. "The wings were impressive. By the way, the next time you decide to pull a stunt like that without warning, I'm not going to be pleased."

"It wasn't intentional!" Ace protested.

"I'm sure."

Ace opened his mouth, fully prepared to point out that Marco looked like he didn't believe Ace in the slightest, but closed it when a wave of exhaustion slammed into him. He was engulfed in darkness almost instantly.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Another day passed, slipping by almost unnoticed.

Marco and Thatch sat on the railing of the Moby Dick, staring out at the vast ocean, so still after the storm that had rocked it earlier that week. They were nursing a bottle of alcohol, though it was more for Thatch's benefit than Marco's, given the latter's inability to get even remotely buzzed.

Around them, the ship hummed with its normal activity. The weather was almost perfect, so many of the pirates were taking the opportunity to relax—if they weren't on duty.

Thatch took a long drink and then sighed. "Marco, I don't think I like being bait."

"You did fine, yoi."

"I know I was incredible, but it's not fun."

Marco glanced at his friend and brother. "You're really bad at breaking the ice, did you know that?"

Thatch rolled his eyes. "Excuse you. I'm a social butterfly."

Marco snorted, taking a drink himself. "Sure you are, yoi. What do you really want to talk about?"

"Why do you even have to ask?"

"Formality."

The fourth division commander stared out at the ocean, his expression becoming more serious. "I'm worried about Ace, Marco. Ace and the way the world's going. You felt it, didn't you? When Teach fell, something in the air changed."

Marco took his time replying. "Something did change, yoi. It feels like there's a storm waiting just over the horizon, and we're sailing straight into it."

The ocean lapped against the hull of the Moby Dick, smelling of salt and bringing with it a cool breeze. Marco closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of it. Even after so many years at sea, he could never pass up calm days like this one. They were a rarity in the New World.

"I feel the same way," Thatch said eventually. "It was the same all those years ago, you know, back when the Pirate King was executed."

Marco drank and sighed. "The era's changing again."

"I wonder what's going to be happening this time. I hope some of those infamous new rookies raise hell; _that'll_ be interesting."

"Seems like they're moving too fast," Marco commented. "Oyaji's mentioned a few times that they're impatient."

"Impatience makes the world go 'round, my friend."

"I won't dispute that."

They descended into a companionable silence, merely taking in the scenery and enjoying the calm weather. Behind them, members of a few different divisions were sparring, the ringing of their weapons providing a backdrop of noise over the ocean. Occasionally, Thatch and Marco could hear a grunt of pain or the sound of someone slamming onto the deck, but there was never anything serious.

"So, you wanted to talk about Ace, yoi."

Thatch nodded absently. "Yeah. I'm worried about him."

"Worried?" Marco repeated while raising one eyebrow. "Physically or mentally?"

"Mentally. From what I've gathered, stopping that traitor was his main purpose in coming back, and now Teach is dead. Executed." Thatch waved his drink in the air, frowning. "You get my point.. Speaking of that, did he ever tell you why he came back? As in, what event triggered it?"

Marco's expression became more serious. "He told me most things, but he didn't go into detail towards the end. He was . . . hesitant."

"Ace, hesitant?"

"It's as unbelievable as it sounds. He was apparently captured and brought first to Impel Down—" Thatch's grip on his cup tightened and his knuckles turned white, "and then to Marineford."

"Marineford? Why the hell would they go to Marineford?"

Marco stared at his cup of alcohol and sloshed the liquid around some, debating. Then he glanced at Thatch. "I can't tell you the exact reason—it's not my secret to tell—but I can say that Ace has connections to some very problematic people in the World Government's eyes."

Thatch snorted. "The World Government can go screw itself for all I care. What, so they were going to execute him?"

"I believe so. He didn't go into much detail after that; just mentioned that there was a great battle that didn't end well, and that was when he'd come back."

"Huh." Thatch glanced down at his own cup. "Strange." He fidgeted for a minute and Marco gave him a silent cue to spit it out already. "Doesn't it seem . . . odd that Ace doesn't want to talk about when he was sent back? He wasn't really the type to keep serious secrets."

This time, Marco twitched, but Thatch was too absorbed in his own musings to notice. "This is just a hunch, but . . . Marco, I think Ace died. Or got so close to death that he 'saw the light' before he came back."

Thatch snuck a glance at his longtime crewmate. "Marco, talk to me. I'm getting nervous here."

"I don't like thinking about that, yoi," Marco eventually said. "I came to the same conclusion after thinking about it for a few minutes. He wasn't actively trying to hide it, but he never explicitly mentioned it. I think . . . I think he's more deeply bothered by it than he wants to admit."

"Kid's got some problems," Thatch muttered.

"I'll drink to that, yoi." They drank. "We'll help him, Thatch. He's young."

"Cares too much."

"You say that most people don't care enough."

Thatch rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but he . . . I don't know, I'm not one to get deep, but he puts too much into things, you know?"

"And he never expects anything in return."

"That's it!" Thatch declared. "That's it exactly! He lives like he owes the world for his very existence!"

"Hmph," Marco said in reply, staring down. He knew exactly why that was, and he was one of two people on the Moby Dick that had been entrusted with Ace's deepest secret. If Ace wanted to tell others, he could, but even though Marco trusted Thatch completely, he knew that it wasn't his place to reveal Ace's secrets.

A sudden bustle of activity caught the commanders' attention. Marco turned and waved down the nearest pirate while Thatch went to refill his cup.

"Hey, Ben, what's going on?"

"It's Ace, commander! He suddenly blacked out!"

"What, narcolepsy?" Thatch asked, turning around as well. Ben shook his head.

"No! I don't know the details, but it's bad, and Tasuka's calling for—actually, she's calling for you two to, I quote, 'Get your asses down to the med bay as fast as inhumanly possible'."

The bottle of alcohol dropped from Thatch's hand and shattered against the railing.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Thatch paced. Marco, looking as though he wanted to do the exact same thing, watched him from an uncomfortable stool next to the bed Ace was strapped to.

Ace was thrashing as much as he could with the restraints, his body slick and shining with sweat while his breathing remained consistently inconsistent and erratic. His hair was matted down and his eyes were constantly moving beneath his eyelids while his breaths were forced between his slightly parted lips.

"We should've seen this coming," Thatch muttered. "This is what happens when you mess with shit like time!"

"You're stressed, yoi," Marco said. Thatch shot him a look.

"You're just as stressed. You haven't taken your eyes off him for more than five seconds at a time."

Both commanders glared at each other for a few more seconds before they both broke eye contact, muttering apologies.

"We're both stressed," Marco admitted. "It could just be a normal sickness."

"You know Ace—he could just burn the problem right out of his body."

"Dammit, Thatch," Marco said softly. "I'm trying to feel better."

"Maybe he'll be fine in the morning. He's always healed really quickly. It could just be a one-night thing."

"You saw the look on Tasuka's face. Even Kisha looked worried."

Thatch stopped pacing to give Marco a pleading look. "Come on, let me have my peace!"

"No. You ruined mine."

The fourth division commander grumbled something while he changed to cool cloth clinging to Ace's forehead. Neither of the two men left the med bay that night.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace woke up the next morning with the impression that he'd just been rammed by the Moby Dick, and possibly several other ships on top of that; his entire body was stiff and sore, while his insides felt like they wanted to be on the outside. He spent a few minutes just trying not to throw up.

Was this what it was like to be sick? Because, if so, being sick sucked royally.

The sound of someone snoring caught Ace attention and He slowly sat up, wincing when the blood rushed to his head and made his vision swim. When it cleared, his eyes widened when he realized what was going on.

Then his expression softened. Marco and Thatch were sleeping soundly, both passed out in uncomfortable-looking chairs that had been dragged close to the bed. They were actually only half-in the chairs; their heads were pillows on their arms, which were resting on Ace's bed. It was surprisingly cute, in a way.

As quietly as he could manage, Ace got out of his bed and hobbled over to the two nearest beds, easily pulling the thin sheets off. He then wobbled back over to Thatch and Marco, not completely trusting his stomach to stay steady while vertical, and carefully draped the sheets over them. Then he crawled back into bed and went back to sleep, feeling much better than he had before.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"You're fine now?" Thatch asked incredulously, staring at Ace. "You can't be serious. Last night you were thrashing around like the world was ending!"

Ace shrugged. "I don't know why it happened or why it passed so quickly. I guess I just needed to adjust to the changed times. Really, this is my first time trying out time-travel, so I don't know all the specifics."

"Maybe it came with a manual and you forgot to read it, yoi," Marco suggested dryly.

Ace rolled his eyes. "Sure, that's what happened. Anyway, I'm perfectly fine."

"Devil fruit?" Thatch tried.

Ace's right arm turned to flame for a second.

"Appetite?"

"You were there at breakfast."

"Wit?"

"Always better than yours. Unnecessary question."

" . . . Shut up."

"See?" Ace said proudly. "I'm good."

"Can't blame us for being worried," Thatch said with a shrug. "You're one of our youngest brothers, if not _the_ youngest. We old-timers have to take care of you."

"We?" Marco repeated. "Who's 'we'?"

"You and me, buddy," Thatch stated. "We're old-timers."

"Do not call me old," Marco said stiffly. "I am perfectly young."

"Young my ass," Thatch coughed.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

Ace laughed at their familiar antics and then glanced at Marco. "Hey, Marco, I've got a request."

"What is it, yoi?"

"There are some places I need to visit that I'm worried about since things haven't really . . . gone as planned. I can't just leave them hanging."

"Tying up loose ends?" Thatch asked. "Smart."

"That should be fine," Marco conceded. "Just talk to Oyaji first; you two are due for a long talk anyway."

"That's true," Ace said slowly. He looked almost guilty. "I've been putting that off for too long."

"Yes, yes you have," Thatch said cheerfully, none-too-gently shoving Ace in the direction of Whitebeard's quarters, where the man was resting that day at the nurses' rather _insistent_ request. "Now go. Fly! Be free!"

"You're an ass," Ace muttered, but he was smiling.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace knocked on the door leading to Whitebeard's quarters, trying to ignore the encouraging gestures from Thatch. Honestly, when he was across the deck, it was more than a little strange looking.

"Oyaji? It's Ace. Can I come in?"

He received permission and entered, shutting the door softly behind him. He then turned, seeing Whitebeard lying down on his bed, the man's stature and presence no less gargantuan even when he wasn't standing or sitting upright.

"What is it, my son?" Whitebeard asked, swishing around the alcohol in the container he held.

Ace shifted his weight, unsure where to begin. Then he sighed and figured he may as well just go with it.

"I've been avoiding this conversation for a little too long," he admitted. "I wasn't sure what you would think, Oyaji, and I was nervous for no good reason." Whitebeard raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. "See, I . . . I came from an alternate future timeline in which Teach wasn't caught and wreaked all kinds of havoc. There was a big fight, people—my brothers and sisters, our family—were hurt and some died, and—I came back to stop it, and I didn't tell you because I was afraid."

"So that's it," Whitebeard said. Then he let out a low laugh. "Never thought I'd live to see the day one of my sons came back in time."

Ace blinked. "What, you're not mad that I didn't tell you? That I kept this secret?"

"Why would I be angry?"

Ace opened his mouth and then closed it, realizing that he really didn't have an answer. Whitebeard was an incredibly accepting man; Ace would attest to that himself, what with the whole parentage thing that Ace was trying to avoid thinking about too much.

Whitebeard let out another chuckle that rumbled throughout the room, and Ace let a slow, hesitant smile stretch his lips.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"Bye! Everyone, don't do anything stupid while I'm gone!"

"You're the one that always does the stupid things, you bastard!"

Ace simply continued grinning and waving to the crew of the Moby Dick while he sailed away on Striker, familiar backpack looped over one shoulder and enough supplies to last him for a long time packed away.

He sailed off into the sunset, only to realize after about twenty minutes that he was going in the wrong direction, a mistake he quickly corrected.

He hoped that no one had noticed. He'd never live it down otherwise.

* * *

 _A/N Teach is dead. He will not be coming back, just in case anyone suspected me of pulling something like that. Ace collapsed b/c . . . well, time sickness. Or something. It made sense in my head. But he's fine now._

 _9momentos: That won't be happening, though it's an interesting idea._

 _LittleChomper: Sabo and Luffy didn't necessarily get a "bad" feeling; they just felt_ something _. Like when the winds change; Thatch and Marco were discussing it in this chapter._

 _Guest: New stories? Ohhhhh boy. Probably not for a while; I have to finish the ones I've started. There may be one shots, though._ Maybe _._

 _OnePieceDoesExist: Ah, right. The whole Sabo-memory-loss thing. I've got a plan for that. A very . . ._ fun _plan._

 _dragonwarrior316: Plot convenience. (Actually, it's like this; when I was younger, I heard that a family member of mine had died. Even only a few days later, I couldn't remember the details leading up to that moment, but I could remember the moment itself in perfect clarity. I based it off that. So, basically, selective memory.)_

 _Can anyone guess what's next?_

 _-RoR_

 _ **Please review.**_


	22. Chapter 22

_All right! My bunker is looking awesome. You people won't be able to touch me next chapter._

* * *

Chapter 22

Ace took a deep breath, memories flooding through him as the heat washed over his body and the dry, intermittent breeze tousled any hairs that weren't secured beneath his orange hat. The sun beat down heavily on the dusty and sandy ground, as well as the dusty and sandy people, but they had been living here for a long time and weren't bothered in the slightest by the dry conditions.

Alabasta. It had been a long time since Ace had last been here. Still, he didn't know if he'd timed it right, so he kept Luffy's bounty poster close at hand and asked anyone that looked like they might've run across him.

Only after a few minutes of questioning random locals did Ace remember that he'd run into Luffy at the restaurant nearby—or, more accurately, that restaurant was where Luffy had (quite literally) run into Ace.

Maybe he could avoid that this time—though he wasn't sure how. Smoker would probably be there, too, but Ace couldn't think of any other place where he would run into Luffy. Therefore, he pocketed the bounty poster and took off at a relaxed pace, keeping one hand on the strap of his backpack. He was well aware of the stares being directed at his back, but there wasn't any sign of mass panic, most likely because many infamous pirates had come to Alabasta.

A shopkeeper tried to offer Ace a golden apple—which was clearly a scam—but Ace declined, making sure to point out that he had no interest in living for a thousand years. It would ruin the point of living in the moment, after all.

He continued on his earlier train of thought, musing about which infamous pirates had come here. Either that, or the people didn't care enough to panic about it. Ace supposed that as long as he wasn't doing any damage, they had no reason to. Then again, they might not realize the full significance of the mark on his back . . .

He sighed, scratching his forehead. "Hungry," he muttered. At least he remembered that the restaurant had good food.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace wondered if any of the people that had panicked over his narcoleptic attack had ever actually seen someone get affected by a desert strawberry. He highly doubted it; the entire thing sounded made up, not that it was something he wanted to test.

Still, he'd gotten tons of food, a free toothpick, and some local gossip when he wasn't asleep in said food. There wasn't any sign of Luffy yet, and the marine guy hadn't shown up either. What was his name again? It was something really obvious, (he'd had it a few minutes ago) and related to the cigars he was always—

Smoker, that was it. Ace was pretty sure he was a captain.

He just wanted to see Luffy again. Screw the marines, screw Crocodile for doing whatever the hell he was doing here, screw the universe; Ace wanted to see Luffy again, circumstances and consequence be damned.

He finally finished his meal, tossing down his fork and letting out a contented sigh. "Ah, I'm full."

Hadn't Luffy come through here originally? If Ace missed his mark, then maybe the bartender standing in front of him would know whether Luffy had passed through. He began rifling through his bag, saying, "By the way, sir, this guy—" he put Luffy's wanted poster on the counter, "hasn't come to town, has he? A pirate wearin' a straw hat—"

The hair on the back of Ace's neck stood on end and he mentally cursed. Apparently, he'd timed this _brilliantly_. Almost to the second.

Curse his luck. But at the same time, bless his luck. That meant Luffy—

"I guess you don't have a problem with eating in public, commander of the Whitebeard Pirates Second Division, Portgas D. Ace."

And there was the inevitable freak out. Ace had been waiting for that shoe to drop since he arrived—though he didn't appreciate the guy that called him a dumbass. He just had narcolepsy, dammit!

Ah, Smoker was talking again.

"What business does an infamous pirate like you have in this country?"

Ace smiled to himself, knowing that no one would ever truly understand his "business". After all, time traveling was a difficult job. Still, he could dumb it down.

"I'm searching," Ace said simply while turning to face Smoker, "for my little brother."

The tension in the air was almost palpable. Ace kept a smirk plastered firmly on his face while Smoker's two cigars (how was he not dead yet?) kept smoking away.

"So then," Ace said, breaking the silence, "what should I do?"

"Sit there and let me arrest you."

"Rejected," Ace said immediately. "I'd rather not."

Smoker looked unfazed. "Well, that's what I expected." He sighed. "Right now, I'm looking for a different pirate. I'm not really interested in your head."

"Then let me go," Ace suggested. To him, it seemed simple enough.

"I can't do that," Smoker replied. He clenched his right hand into a fist and the entire limb turned to smoke. Ace's smirk became far darker. "As long as I'm a marine . . . and you're a pirate."

"What a dumb reason." Ace lifted his head up so his eyes were no longer shaded by the brim of his hat, and he knew that to anyone save Smoker, he probably looked at least a little unbalanced in that moment. "Shall we have some fun, then?"

The standoff lasted for another few seconds before Ace frowned. He heard something. Something that sounded suspiciously like—

"Shit!" he cursed, diving to one side. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite fast enough, and his little brothers Gomu Gomu no Rocket still hit Smoker—and, by proxy, Ace—with the force of a train. The two older men went flying through several walls while Luffy dropped into one of the now empty stools.

When Ace finally managed to slow himself down and eventually stop (if he did that by going through at least ten walls, no one needed to know), he got back to his feet, brushing off the rubble and dust that had accumulated on his person.

"Asshole," he muttered, adjusting his hat. "Years without seeing each other, and this is how he greets me?"

 _Better than at an execution platform._

Ace pushed that thought aside and began walking forward, making sure to apologize to the family he and Smoker had probably just traumatized.

He finally got within sight of Luffy, who was eating like he hadn't just sent his pursuer and older brother on an all-expenses-paid trip through the nearest few houses.

"Lu!" Ace called. He prepared to take another step forward, and then ducked to avoid Smoker's hand. Frowning at the near mistake, Ace swept his leg back, catching Smoker unawares, and sent the marine flying back.

The entire encounter took less than two seconds, yet when Ace turned back to face Luffy, the younger boy was still eating and staring at Ace.

Then Luffy suddenly went pale, shoveled the rest of his food in his mouth, and sprinted out the door after saying his thanks for the meal.

Ace called after his brother, wondering why he'd just taken off, only to see Smoker—actually half-smoke—fly past him. Instantly, Ace took off as well, yelling to get Luffy's attention.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

In Ace's opinion, it took far too long for him to catch up to Luffy, especially with those irritating marines and even more irritating Baroque Works officers or billions or whatever they called themselves. Ace hadn't really been paying attention when he'd barbequed their fleet.

Ah, but he got to see Luffy again. Sure, he was younger and wearing a different shirt but he was still _Luffy_.

Ands they'd already talked and chatted and acted like everything was completely normal but Luffy was no idiot—much to some people's surprise—and he could pick up on the different aura around his older brother almost immediately.

So once the crew was sailing down the coast to get to the west side of the Sandora River, and once they'd gotten used to the idea that Ace would be tagging along for a while (under the pretense that he was looking for someone, which kind of made sense), Ace pulled Luffy aside.

"Hey, Lu, can we talk?" He asked quietly. He wasn't really good with deep conversation, but he didn't feel comfortable lying to his little brother.

"Sure!" Luffy agreed. They walked away from the others, and Ace tried not to pay attention to the stares being directed their way. No doubt the Straw Hats were curious as to what the two brothers would be talking about, especially since one of them was _Luffy_.

Once they were out of earshot, Ace leaned against the Going Merry's railing, resting his elbows on the sea-worn wood. Luffy stood in front of him, one eyebrow raised and his head tilted slightly to one side, clearly displaying his curiosity.

"What'd you wanna talk about, Ace?" Luffy asked.

Ace wanted to talk. He wanted to speak so badly, but the words were building up in his throat, struggling to all get out at once and rendering him unable to say even one.

He wanted to say _I've missed you._

He wanted to say _I'm sorry._

He wanted to say _I'm so glad you're okay._

He wanted to say _I'll never let it happen again._

He wanted to say _Thank you._

And he wanted to say it again, and again, and again, until the message got across: _Thank you for loving me._

But he couldn't say any of that; his mouth refused to open.

Luffy frowned slightly. "Ace . . .?"

Ace's lips twisted into a bitter smirk and he looked down, shading his eyes and most of his face with the shadow created by the brim of his hat. It was pathetic; here he was, and he couldn't even say what he wanted to say to his kid brother. At this rate, he would leave before anything got done.

What a waste.

"Ace?" Luffy repeated. The younger boy took a step forward, and then another, his expression shifting to one of a mix of concern and confusion rather than puzzlement. "You're—"

And that's when Ace tasted the salt on his lips.

Ah, so that explained it. It wasn't words blocking his throat; it was emotions. Of course.

He wanted to curse Marineford for messing up his careful balance of emotions, a balance that he'd maintained since Sabo's death. He felt oddly vulnerable, strangely exposed. He didn't like it.

Rubbery arms suddenly wrapped around him, shielding Ace from the outside world.

"Hey, Ace," Luffy said, his voice slightly muffled from where Luffy's face was pressed against Ace's skin, "if you're gonna cry, you should have a good reason, right? So why are you crying?" Luffy hesitated for only a split second, his natural intuition showing at its most basic level. "No, I don't wanna know why; you're Ace, after all. So, feel better!"

Luffy leaned back and gave his widest grin. "Okay?"

Ace finally managed to clear his throat and he hugged Luffy back, closing his eyes and feeling the remaining tears course down his cheeks. "Yeah, Lu, I can do that."

And then, so quietly it was nearly lost in the breeze, Ace said, "Thanks."

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

Ace spent the next few days getting to know Luffy's crew all over again as they crossed the scorching desert and traversed several cities and villages, many of which were abandoned because of sandstorms and water shortages. Ace got lost at one point but managed to help out a trio of familiar-looking cowards, which worked out in the end because he found Luffy and his group again.

They battled strange creatures in the sands, and Ace stayed on his toes so he wouldn't be caught unawares—though with his Devil Fruit, there was little in the desert that could even scratch him. Not even the incredible heat bothered him, yet it had brought the others to their knees.

Except for Nami and Vivi. Those two were taking turns on a camel that Ace didn't remember getting, but he just paid no attention to the animal. It returned the favor.

He remembered a lot about Luffy's crew, but now he paid even more attention to them. These were the people that Luffy chose to surround himself with, and in the end, his life was practically in their hands and vice versa.

So Ace watched them with new eyes, dismissing his half-remembered first impressions in favor of new ones.

He found respect for Zoro, Luffy's de facto first mate. The guy had his quirks, but when the time came Ace had no dobut that he would pull through. Of course, the rest of Luffy's crew also seemed that way, but Zoro exuded a powerful aura the others couldn't quite match. It was strange, though; Zoro's aura seemed too big, like a coat three sizes too large. Maybe he still had some growing to do.

Nami, the navigator, also had Ace's respect. She somehow kept the crew on course despite how hectic they could be, and if she could keep Luffy in line then Ace was happy. After all, it took a special set of skills to handle the rubber man.

Usopp was impressive in his own right. Like Nami, he didn't have the superhuman abilities that the other crewmembers—save Vivi—seemed to possess. Instead, he was the realist (as was Nami), and while his fear of the unknown and the potentially dangerous was unwarranted or unhelpful at times, it brought some sense of normalcy to things, which Ace appreciated. After all, _someone_ had to keep Luffy grounded.

At first, Sanji had seemed like an incredibly responsible and mature man to Ace. Then the Whitebeard Pirate had seen him with Nami and Vivi, and he quickly changed that opinion, adding, "with women, he is not". Still, he provided a counterbalance to Zoro, so the two combined would certainly provide Luffy with entertainment.

And then there was the reindeer. Honestly, Ace wasn't sure what to make of Chopper, but the guy seemed nice enough, if a little strange. Ace had tried to be nice, only to get insulted. After figuring out that Chopper really meant no harm and that the hostile response—verbally, anyway—was a knee-jerk reaction, Ace dismissed his confusion and asked Chopper a few polite questions about his work as a doctor. The reindeer seemed to appreciate Ace's genuine interests and even showed him a few interesting recipes for certain kinds of powders and treatments.

That left Vivi, the temporary crewmember, and her duck, though the duck had already left. She was a princess, which Ace thought was pretty cool (he never would've thought he'd be crossing the desert with a princess and a pirate crew), and she was responsible, smart, and intelligent. Her blue hair was a bit strange, but with what Ace had seen in the New World, it wasn't anything extremely outrageous. She was certainly loyal and dedicated, so she had as much of Ace's respect as the other members of the Straw Hat crew.

She'd seemed surprised that Ace and Luffy's relationship went way back, but Ace didn't blame her. The two siblings were very different, after all, and Ace had no doubt that Luffy had never even mentioned him.

By the time he'd dealt with the old man who'd claimed to be a great bounty hunter, Ace was feeling assured that Luffy was in good hands all over again, if that hadn't already been proven to him by the fact that Luffy had survived this island and made it to Marineford. His crew was reliable, loyal to a fault, and had enough individuality to entertain yet still support each other when the time came.

Ace was reminded of his own crew, and smiled at the thought.

But, the time to leave crept up on him, and it felt all too soon to Ace. Still, he didn't fight it; he didn't want to risk Luffy's future getting screwed up just because Ace wanted to be a selfish older brother.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"Are you really leaving, Ace?" asked Chopper. Behind him, the sun was setting, painting the sky and the sands in brilliant hues of gold, orange, and crimson.

"Yeah," Ace affirmed. "There's no more reason for me to stay in this country."

"Oh," Luffy said simply, his expression impossible to read. Sanji took up the slack immediately.

"Where are you planning to go next?"

"Probably to the West," Ace replied easily. He reached into his pocket, where a piece of paper had stayed for the past several weeks. He fished it out and then tossed it to Luffy, saying, "Here, Luffy."

Luffy caught it, confused.

"Keep it with you always," Ace advised.

"What? It's just a scrap of paper," Luffy said, puzzled. Even his crew looked confused, but Ace was confident that they would figure it out sooner or later.

"That scrap of paper will let us meet again," Ace said. Luffy made a noise of comprehension as he unfolded the Vivre Card. "Don't want it?"

"No, I do."

Ace grinned, then addressed Luffy's crew. "Having a younger brother who's a bit on the slow side makes his older brother worry. He's probably going to keep burning your hands, too." He offered a short bow. "Take care of him for me."

The infamous pirate then straightened, his expression becoming more serious, almost challenging but not quite. "Luffy, the next time we meet will be at the pirate's summit."

"Okay!" Luffy agreed, grinning with anticipation.

Ace tipped up his hat, looking Luffy in the eyes. "Come to the top."

And then, right when Scorpion's two sons distracted the crew, Ace took his leave, not wanting to drag out the goodbye any longer.

He hated goodbyes, anyway. They were always too final. Better to leave it hanging, so they would see each other again.

* * *

 _A/N For those of you who were waiting for Luffy, I hope you found this satisfying!_

 _9momentos: I'm not sure what you mean by "reward"._

 _N Harmonic: I have no idea._

 _Guest: Yup._

 _Trainer Azurite: To your first two questions, I have a plan. To your third question, yes. Luffy's trip to Impel Down/Marineford may or may not be happening, though I won't be covering it. This is an Ace-centric story, after all._

 _Ohhhhh the next chapter is going to be_ awesome _._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	23. Chapter 23

_*dives into bunker and slams the door shut*_

* * *

Chapter 23

"Circle around the island!" Ace ordered. "Stay far enough ahead so that the marines' cannon fire will hit the island and not our ship! Go around this island—but don't get too close to Akainu and me—to put distance between you and the marine ship so you don't lead them to Oyaji, and then get the hell out of here! I'll hold off the navy as best I can!"

"Commander, what about you?"

Ace growled low in his throat. "I'll hold off Akainu to let you guys escape. Since he can attack from a distance, it's worthless if he's left to freely attack us while we try to sail away. I'll distract him for however long it takes."

On cue, a magma fist suddenly flew down from the sky, narrowly missing the boat and causing a great blast of steam when it hit the water. The waves rocked the boat, but Ace wasn't paying attention to that; he was looking at the island they were passing by.

"What island is this?" Ace asked his navigator.

"Hingeki Island, commander."

"Okay. Tell Oyaji where I am; I'll survive. Get reinforcements; we're not yet ready to take on Akainu, but I'll hold him off for as long as I can."

The Whitebeard Pirates of the Second Division clearly weren't happy with Ace's orders, but they saw the sense in them.

After responding to a distress call from one of Whitebeard's territories, Ace and many members of his division were heading back to the Moby Dick, but on the way they'd been spotted by marines and then chased by none other than Admiral Akainu himself. The man had some kind of vendetta against pirates, especially the Whitebeard Pirates, and Ace knew all too well how strong he was.

Ace didn't know if he would actually be able to hold off Akainu and give his crew a chance to escape, but he had to try. Otherwise, he'd be taking almost a hundred people down with him, and he couldn't bear that.

This wasn't Marineford, after all.

Ace leapt off the ship and took off towards the beach, landing in a crouch and watching his flames sputter and die in the sand. It was fortunate that Hingeki Island was deserted; otherwise, there would have been numerous casualties.

"Here we go," the young man muttered. "Enkai: Sen Raito!"

At his command, a great number of flames rushed from his body and then formed into spheres, much like Hotarubi: Hidaruma, except these were far larger and fewer in number. Face furrowed in concentration, Ace flung his arms forward and the fireballs flew in the direction of the marine warship, glowing with an ominous red light that burned and flickered.

Most of the fireballs didn't make it to the ship. Magma, cannonballs, and lucky shots deflected and detonated them, but one or two fireballs slipped through and crashed against the ship, exploding and creating an inferno on the ship.

Unfortunately, the marines seemed to be handling the flames well—Ace wouldn't be surprised if Akainu trained them to handle something like this, what with his magma powers—which was a problem, but even a split second delay was advantageous for the escaping pirates.

Ace cursed the marines' timing. Had his crew been fresh, they could've done more than just flee with their tails between their legs, but they'd been at sea for some time now and were weary, not anywhere close to prime fighting condition.

A small craft broke off from the marine ship and Ace watched, alert and tense, as Akainu approached.

The man's stern expression hadn't changed in the slightest. He still wore his red suit and justice jacket, though now magma bubbled across his shoulders.

He disembarked and strolled closer, seemingly relaxed, but Ace could see the way he circled like a predator closing in on its prey.

Well, Ace sure as hell wasn't going to be his prey. He still had to buy his crew at least ten minutes.

"If it isn't the infamous pirate Portgas D. Ace," Akainu said, his voice carrying easily to where Ace stood.

"If it isn't the famous admiral Akainu," Ace replied evenly. He could _feel_ burning in his chest and had to resist the urge to check that he wasn't injured. It felt as though his scar was pulsing.

"Are you ready to give yourself up?"

"No can do. I have a family I need to get back to."

Akainu scoffed. "Family? Don't be stupid, pirate. What you have can hardly be called a family. You're a motley crew of murderers, thieves, and degenerates."

Before, Ace would have leapt to the defense of his family. He was still going to, but he wasn't going to be stupid about it.

"Believe what you like," Ace said slowly, "but my brothers and sisters are going to be waiting for me for a long time if I stay here to entertain you, so I'll be leaving soon. Try not to miss me too much."

"You're not going anywhere, Portgas."

Ace smirked. "You're going to stop me?" His body began to flicker with flames.

"Yes, I believe I am. You're mere fire; I am magma. I can burn you, brat."

"I'd like to see you try," Ace growled. His fist lit up and he moved quickly, so quickly his body practically blurred. "HIKEN!"

Akainu countered by growling, "Dai Funka!"

The magma fist clashed with its fiery counterpart and then broke through it with a spectacular explosion of heat and a shockwave that sent sand flying in all directions. Most of the remaining magma flew in Ace's direction, but the pirate had known from the beginning that he was outclassed by the opponent's Devil Fruit so he was already moving, lunging to one side and, in mid air, crossing his fingers and calling, "Jujika!"

The intense burst of flames shot at Akainu but the man seemed completely unfazed by it as the fire rolled over him. Ace grimaced as he hit the ground and rolled out of the way of another splash of magma, feeling the heat begin to blister his skin. He was on his feet in a second and releasing another Hiken a moment later, but once more Akainu brushed it aside.

Ace knew he was fighting a losing battle. Akainu had the advantage in almost every area of combat; he was stronger, physically bigger, and possessed a Devil Fruit that rendered Ace's practically useless.

Still, Ace could hold him off. He just had to be smart about it. Very, very smart, and very, very careful.

 _I can't afford to die here_ , he reminded himself, picturing Luffy in his mind. He wasn't going to leave him alone.

Ace jumped into the air, using fire to propel himself just out of Akainu's immediate range. He had maybe two seconds before Akainu launched another attack, so Ace worked as quickly as he was able.

He'd never tried this before, and it was going to take most of his concentration. He was just lucky that he'd been practicing with his Devil Fruit for the past few months, or he never would've been able to manage this.

"Enkai!" Flames swirled around Ace, their familiar heat almost comforting. "Hotarubi!" Green lights spread from Ace's hands, coating the battlefield. "Sen Raito!"

Many of the green lights combined and then flew in the direction of the navy vessel, turning into screaming red fireballs halfway there, while others remained, drifting deceptively peacefully through the air.

Akainu grit his teeth, immediately seeing what Ace was doing. With one hand, the marine admiral sent several magma fists flying after the fireballs. There were too many for the marines to handle on their own, and if one hit a critical spot then the ship would go down, leaving Akainu stranded.

With his other hand, Akainu created a wave of magma that quickly shaped itself into a dog and flew at Ace.

"Inugami Guren," Akainu stated, naming the technique. Ace grimaced, feeling the heat even at such a distance, and held out both hands. They had been emanating a soft green light for a few seconds.

"Hidaruma," Ace said. The hovering fireballs abruptly congregated on Akainu and his magma dog, detonating and creating a blazing inferno that twisted and burned for several seconds. Ace, seeing no more advantage to staying airborne, fell back to the sands, careful to avoid the cooling magma puddles.

A massive wave of heat warned him of the danger and he shot back, narrowly missing being coated in a massive amount of magma.

It was getting more and more difficult to breathe.

"You're persistent," Akainu acknowledged. The way he said it made it sound more like an insult than a compliment. Ace tried not to react to the sight of the admiral being just as unscathed as he had been in the beginning of the fight.

"So are you," Ace returned. If his words—referencing the battle that had never actually happened—meant anything to the admiral, Akainu didn't show it.

"If you're trying to buy time for your crew to escape, you're wasting your efforts."

Ace's expression didn't change. "Is that so?"

Akainu's expression did change—to one of amusement. Ace felt his heart beat even louder in his chest. "Of course. While you were preoccupied with dodging my attacks, I sent some to your crew."

Ace tried not to let his concern show on his face. "Don't underestimate my family. We're not easy to kill."

"Oh, I'm well aware."

The Whitebeard commander grit his teeth, flames dancing along his arms and shoulders. Akainu's grin widened. "Something wrong?"

"Higan," Ace muttered, raising one hand.

The flame bullet pierced Akainu's forehead. The world held its breath but Ace merely watched as the hole closed, magma dripping down and filling it.

"I knew you were desperate," Akainu commented, adjusting his gloves, "but I never realized you were _that_ desperate. What were you expecting? Some kind of miracle?"

Only then did Akainu notice the way Ace's eyes were blazing. It wasn't a normal glare; no, there was literal fire burning within him, building in heat and intensity, as it had been doing the entire fight. Ace gave the admiral a tight grin.

"I'll have to cut our meeting short," Ace said. "Shinka: Shiranui!"

Flames blazed to life in Ace's hands and the pirate hurled the flaming lances at Akainu. They burned with blue flames, far hotter than anything Ace had created before. Akainu moved to bat them aside, but his eyes widened in surprise when the fire lances actually pierced his raised arm. One stopped, but the other went through his chest, unbalancing the admiral and forcing him to take one step back. Ace took advantage of that short moment of weakness.

"HIKEN!"

An absolutely enormous blast of fire erupted from Ace's fist and raged against Akainu's hurried but not rushed defense. Ace gritted his teeth, dug his feet into the sand, and poured as much power into the attack as he was able, drawing on the fire he'd been building within himself since he'd seen Admiral Akainu standing on the deck of that warship.

Ace yelled wordlessly, channeling the pain lancing through his chest into the attack, channeling the pain of leaving his brother and channeling the pain of the knowledge that he'd screwed up.

The sand on the beach glistened, some of it glassed, and the water closest to the raging inferno turned to steam and vanished.

But no matter how hard Ace pushed, Akainu would not move. In fact, the marine was moving forward, taking slow, deliberate steps while the fire rushed past him.

 _Dammit_ , Ace thought, his eyes going wide. He'd expected to at least be able to push back Akainu another step and get him that much closer to the water, but—

"Shit!" Ace leapt back, seeing the magma fist come within an arm's length of his chest. The heat alone made Ace's throat go dry and he stumbled back, off balance and drained from his last attack.

Akainu knew Ace had used his trump card. _Ace_ knew that he'd used his trump card.

It was a losing fight. That fact hadn't changed at all despite Ace's best efforts.

Ace wanted to use his ultimate move, Dai Enkai: Entei, but it would have about as much effect on Akainu as Hiken did.

He could see his ship leaving over Akainu's shoulder. Magma or comets or meteors of whatever the hell Akainu had launched at the vessel were raining down, but Ace's division was feared the world over for a reason and they were deflecting the attacks.

One slipped through. Ace had to pull his eyes away from the explosion, though he knew the ship would survive.

Ace ducked under another punch, coated his fist in Armament Haki, and punched Akainu as hard as he could in the stomach. The admiral hadn't been expecting Ace to dodge and then immediately attack, since the pirate had been making sure to avoid all of Akainu's other attacks. The admiral coughed, his breath leaving him, and Ace landed another punch before jumping back out of range—

He wasn't fast enough. Akainu's magma-coated hand caught Ace's wrist and the younger man screamed in pain as a burning heat unlike any other drowned out his pain threshold.

In a desperate move to get away, Ace brought up his free hand and ground out, "Higan!" between gritted teeth. The attack peppered Akainu's hand full of holes, giving Ace a slim chance to pull away. He did and shot away from Akainu, crashing onto the sands and rolling to a stop when his energy ran low.

Ace slowly sat up and cradled his wrist, refusing to even look at the burns yet.

His crew would get away. They would make it. That was all that mattered now.

Smoke from the burning forest drifted lazily into the air, belying the tension coating the beach. Ace could taste grit and ash in his mouth and he spit it out, only to realize that there was crimson in his mouth as well.

His wrist hurt so badly. Ace glanced down at it and blinked when he saw white. Most of his flesh had been seared off, leaving the bone—and even that looked scorched.

If he had remained in Akainu's grip any longer, he would've lost his hand.

He would probably still lose his hand. At least he'd practiced with both hands, so that losing his right wouldn't be too big a deal.

He stood, staggered, reached across his body, and unsheathed his dagger.

Normally, he wouldn't use it. He rarely used it. Even against Blackbeard, he hadn't used it.

But he couldn't die here. He. Couldn't. Die.

The metal glinted in the light. Akainu raised an eyebrow.

"Drawing your weapon this late in the battle? It won't help you."

Ace set his jaw and didn't respond.

A second passed. Two. Three.

Ace darted forward, weaving around blasts of magma while he coated his weapon in Haki. He jumped over another punch from Akainu and then quite literally breathed fire into the man's face, temporarily blinding him. Ace took advantage of that split second to sink his dagger into Akainu's shoulder. The blade went down all the way to the hilt and Ace twisted it, feeling the muscles and tendons in Akainu's shoulder giving way.

The admiral growled in pain and punched Ace away with enough force to send the pirate flying away like a rag doll. Ace gasped, feeling a few ribs give with the impact. His chest was scorched, too, and he hissed in pain as drops of magma burned his arms and legs.

Akainu held one hand to his shoulder for a moment, then frowned and seemed to push the fact that he'd been stabbed to the side. Still, Ace could see the blood dripping from the open wound, so he'd at least done _something_. Akainu then looked at Ace, frowning. Ace tensed, preparing for the worst.

The ground around the admiral cracked. Ace immediately shot into the air, glad that he did a moment later when magma poured out of the fissures that were already spiraling towards where Ace had been standing.

"Inugami Guren!"

"Dammit," Ace grunted, quickly switching directions and propelling himself away from the vicious magma dog. He headed towards the water, going over Akainu, somehow hoping to lead the dog-like _thing_ into the water and then to get it to harden, rendering it useless.

And then Akainu was releasing another of the creatures and Ace knew he was cornered, trapped, so he called out, "Enkai!" and coated himself in as many flames as he possibly could. The sphere rapidly expanded, swallowing the magma attacks and hiding the results within.

Akainu watched, impassive. He blinked.

The twisting inferno abruptly imploded, releasing a massive amount of smoke and, when the remaining bits of magma fell into the water, steam.

A single orange hat drifted out onto the beach, resting there, looking far too clean for such devastated surroundings.

Ace dropped like a stone, barely conscious and knowing that he was burned badly. Pain wracked his body, not in waves, but in a continuous, raging, overflowing river that dragged him under and didn't let him come up for air.

He was going to die.

His eyes closed. He hit the water—

And darkness welcomed him with open arms.

* * *

 _A/N The attack I made up,_ Enkai: Sen Raito, _(hopefully) translates to Flame Commandment: Thousand Lights._

 _Reviews:_

 _Mithril Lace: Yeah, I didn't handle most of that chapter very well. I went back and made a few adjustments, but you're right; it's a little flat._

 _An Anonymoose: His knowledge of the future is now very limited because Blackbeard isn't on the loose, so there isn't much that he can abuse._

 _LittleChomper: Not in this story._

 _9momentos: Oh, okay. Luffy has a bounty; the same one he had when he went to Alabasta the first time._

 _OnePieceDoesExist: Well, you weren't wrong._

 _Smoochynose: It may happen, it may not. I mean, Ace just fell into the ocean..._

 _Yeah, so I'm just gonna stay in my nice, secure room._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	24. Chapter 24

_Short chapter, but no less important than the last one._

* * *

Chapter 24

"Hey, did you hear the news?"

"News? What news?"

"What? Seriously? You don't know about it?"

"If I did, would I be fuckin' asking you?"

"Jeez, calm down."

"Sorry. But what news?"

"The second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates—"

"Shhh! Do you want to bring them here or something? Are you stupid?"

"Oh, relax. They won't come. Now let me finish!"

"Fine, fine."

"So, the second division commander—Portkas D. Ace—"

"Portgas."

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure it's Portgas, not Portkas."

"Shut up! Let me finish!"

"All right, I won't interrupt anymore."

"Promise?"

"Promise. You're making me feel like a five year old, by the way. Should we pinkie-swear?"

"Put a sock in it."

"Well, I—"

"ANYWAY, apparently the kid went and got himself killed."

" . . . Killed? He's dead?"

"Might as well be. Newspapers say he got into a fight with Admiral Akainu."

"What? Man, no way he survived."

"Good thing, too. Heard the kid was some kind of devil."

"I can agree. Sounded like a monster to me."

"Drink?"

"Definitely. A toast to one less monster in the world."

"Cheers!"

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

On the remote island of Amazon Lily, a certain pirate froze, his rubbery heart skipping a beat.

"Wh—what?"

Elder Nyon glanced up. "Hm? Does this interest you?"

The newspaper held in her hands seemed almost mocking. Luffy stared at it for a second, reading the article title that had caught his interest in the first place when Elder Nyon read it aloud:

 **ADMIRAL AKAINU TRIUMPHS OVER WHITEBEARD PIRATE COMMANDER**

Just below the title, a picture of a slightly scorched hat that looked all too familiar provided proof. Even though the picture was in black and white, all who saw it knew that the hat was supposed to be orange, and that the black substance on the sands nearby was blood. Another picture accompanied it, almost for reference: a young black-haired man, freckles speckled across his cheeks, a cocky grin on his face. There was no mistaking who it was.

"Ace . . ." Luffy muttered, turning away. His hands were clenched into fists but his crew couldn't see his expression. "Ace wouldn't—he wouldn't die. Ace isn't dead."

Hands trembling, Luffy reached above the brim of his straw hat, grasping for the piece of paper that had rested there since he had met his older brother in Alabasta. His fingers fumbled around for a few agonizing seconds and became more frantic with each passing breath.

The blood drained from Luffy's face and the confident pirate captain seemed to collapse in on himself, but he kept searching, almost willing the object to be there.

His fingers were almost numb from shock when they brushed against something. He grabbed it immediately, almost yanking it out of its resting place.

Luffy held up the Vivre Card, eyes boring holes into it. Then he let out a long breath, sagging slightly in relief.

"That's good," he said. "Ace is fine."

"Lyet me see that," Elder Nyon said, walking up next to Luffy, newspaper forgotten. She frowned. "It looks burned along the edges."

"Eh?" Luffy looked again. "Oh! You're right. But look! It's getting better, see?"

"Hmph. You're right."

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

"What the hell is this?"

"Commander, calm down, it's just—"

"Complete and utter bullshit! Why the hell would they write something like this? Do you have any idea what people are gonna think? Do you have any idea what Luffy's gonna think?"

"Commander—"

"Just—" Ace took a deep breath, forcing him to calm down. "Never mind. I just need some time alone."

The second division members all exchanged looks and then nodded, leaving the small med bay aboard their vessel. The last one to leave glanced over his shoulder.

"We'll be at the Moby Dick in two days, Commander."

Ace nodded absently in acknowledgement. When the door closed, he let out a deep sigh, his shoulders falling.

"Those idiots . . . they had to come back for me, didn't they?"

Ace didn't remember much after taking Akainu's two attacks head-on. According to his brothers and sisters, he'd fallen into the ocean. Luckily, they'd had a fishman on board at the time as well—he'd agreed to accompany them, even though he was a member of Namur's division, since there had been a chance of an aquatic battle—and he'd managed to save Ace and get away before Akainu could launch an attack.

Ace knew they were leaving out details—like why the fishman had burns across his back—but he let them believe he didn't notice. It gave him a warm feeling in his chest to know they cared so much.

But he'd screwed up. Again. He was stuck in bed, bandaged enough to look like a mummy and with enough skin lost to warrant redoing his tattoos. He'd barely avoided losing his hand, and it would take weeks, maybe months, to heal.

He hated being so still, so cooped up.

Ace growled in frustration, but resigned himself to waiting. He wasn't even allowed out of bed yet; his injuries were so severe that even standing would risk enough wounds opening to cause death via blood loss.

He supposed that he should be happy. He was alive. He'd gotten his hat and dagger back. No one had been seriously injured or killed beside himself.

But still, he was angry with himself. Even if it had been only for a second, he'd been wiling to throw his life away again. His crew had been out of range in those last few seconds—to his knowledge at the time, anyway—and he could've gotten away. But he couldn't bring himself to do it; the blood rushed to his head, and it all just blurred.

Ace held his head with his uninjured hand.

He glanced at the newspaper again, just because its sheer ridiculousness was enough to drag him from his mind.

"After a titanic battle on Hingeki Island in the Grand Line, Admiral Akainu emerged victorious over Whitebeard Pirates Second Division Commander Portgas D. Ace . . . the pirate reportedly fell into the waters and drowned while his crew abandoned him, fleeing in fear of the admiral's power."

Ace grit his teeth and swept the newspaper off his bed, ignoring the way his wrist burned with pain from even that small motion.

"Bullshit," he muttered. "Complete, utter bullshit."

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

In a certain bar on a certain island, a certain man was walking to a certain table when another man burst through the door, newspapers in hand, claiming something about the death of a certain Portgas D. Ace.

The world certainly stopped in that moment.

The certain man paused with it, certain memories buzzing from within their long-forgotten cages.

He picked up a newspaper.

Saw the picture.

Saw the headline.

Read:

"Presumed dead"

Remembered.

Trembled.

Cried.

Screamed.

And collapsed.

* * *

 _A/N *Leaves bunker* Okay, he's not dead! Just pissed off and worried. And_ this _is really what I meant when I said that I and a plan for Sabo._

 _Reviews:_

 _9momentos: Nah, the end is next chapter._

 _N Harmonic: Nope, he gets to keep his hand. Barely._

 _Frostyfall: Yeah, I can't do that to Luffy. Ace ain't gonna die yet._

 _darkfalkon: Whoops. Whatever, I'll just keep it as is. Thanks for the explanation!_

 _Reminiscence Awry: Updates are every other day. I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and don't worry, Ace does keep his hand, if that wasn't already made clear._

 _Kitsune Foxfire: aldjhfl alskjdfh (sorry, I just really like your stories and never expected you to notice mine)_

 _AngelofDeath666: Tru._

 _Guest: Maybe._

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


	25. Chapter 25

_Last (and longest) chapter! Stuff will be at the bottom. And this story broke 200 reviews! (Side note: Timelines are irritating and screw explanations)_

* * *

Chapter 25

Ace liked to think that trouble followed him around. It wasn't his fault that some rather unfortunate situations and circumstances all coalesced to form one great, big, miserable situation. It wasn't plausible. Certainly his luck wasn't _that_ bad, right? He'd met Luffy, after all. Who could have better luck than that?

But sometimes, trouble found Ace in the strangest of places, or at the most inconvenient of times, and Ace was forced to wonder whether it was trouble following him around or it simply lying in wait.

Or Ace thought that _he_ was the trouble. Because this could not be coincidence. Just who the hell decided to have a revolution in the middle of the damned day, anyway?

He'd been quietly eating lunch, trying to fill the emptiness in his stomach as quickly as possible, as per usual. Luckily, he had the money to pay for the meal (though he wouldn't unless he absolutely _had_ to; dining and dashing brought back fond memories), and the other customers at the small restaurant didn't seem to care that Ace was eating enough food for four men at once.

Absently, he wondered if Devil Fruit eaters ate more than normal people. Then he decided he didn't care.

It had been over two years since Ace battled Akainu, and now that he was healed, he was taking advantage of his freedom and simply sailing around. He'd already met some very interesting people on other very interesting islands—this one not included.

The first few months had been full of recovery and therapy for his wrist. He'd never felt safer on the Moby Dick than those first weeks when he'd been unable to even eat unassisted. Marco and Thatch had hovered over him when their duties as commanders didn't force them away, and they'd informed Ace that even Whitebeard himself had been inquiring about his health almost every day.

And if there had been hell rising in the upper echelons of the marines for a few days before the newspapers got the story straight, then Ace said nothing on the subject.

And if there had been a frantic call from an out-of-the-way mountain bandit tribe that had (somehow) gotten ahold of a Den Den Mushi capable of contacting Ace's, then Ace also said nothing on the subject.

But he'd been noticeably less subdued after those two completely unrelated events.

The next few months after that were full of missions and other commander-related duties, though now Ace was slightly more careful about his returning routes, making sure to steer clear of marine bases and strongholds.

Halfway through the second year, he'd finally gotten permission from Marco to just travel. Seeing Luffy's adventures in the newspapers had awakened Ace's old wanderlust, so the older pirate had given into it all over again and now sailed the seas with the promise that he would be back on the Moby Dick "soon".

Of course, earlier in the first year, Ace had seen the articles about Luffy getting captured and sent to Impel Down (apparently while he was searching for his crew). His family had barely been able to stop him from rushing headlong after his little brother—consequences and ironies be damned—only to offer their support the second Ace calmed down enough to think rationally.

Ace knew Impel Down and Marineford thanks to the time he'd spent at each one. Instead of an all-out war, he and a few other commanders had infiltrated Impel Down, successfully freeing Luffy and accidentally causing a mass jailbreak in the process.

Then the marines had crashed the party, destroying Ace's escape ship, forcing the pirates to hide on a warship docked at the prison. That ship had taken them to Marineford, and there they'd had to raise hell again just to find a way home, which they found—strangely enough—in the form of Trafalgar Law, who claimed that he had just been curious about what the brothers were doing in Marineford and had come to investigate.

Yeah, right. The guy had some kind of plan for Luffy, Ace had known that from the moment they locked eyes, but he was their only ticket out so Ace went with it.

Those had been some of the best days in Ace's recent memory, discounting Law, who _still_ creeped him out a little.

When all was said and done, Luffy went back to Amazon Lily, mentioning that he needed to train and grow stronger. Ace hadn't been sure about what was going through his little brother's head, but he'd trusted the rubbery boy and let him go.

And now, many months after that fiasco, Ace's adventuring had brought him here, to an island he really didn't want to be at right now.

Outside the restaurant, people were yelling and screaming and wailing, a scene so confusing that Ace decided he'd much rather stare at his plate than brave the storm of revolution outside. It had been like that for hours now, and the restaurant was the only isle of peace in the entire affair.

It hadn't been at first, of course. Then Ace had walked in and people had given both him and the restaurant a wide birth, probably because of the tattoo emblazoned on his back. The owner of the restaurant seemed thankful, though, and Ace doubted that he'd have to pay for his meal at all.

So for now, Ace stayed inside, content to let the whole thing calm down before he left. The only reason he was at the isolated island in some strangely named kingdom in the first place was because some stupid bird had stolen his supplies and he'd needed to make a stop lest he risk starving to death on the open ocean. He couldn't exactly go diving for fish, after all, and he didn't have the materials for a fishing pole.

Though he had managed to roast any other bird that tried its luck, and that had tided him over until the island came into sight. Now he regretted not waiting until the next island, but there was nothing he could do now besides wait.

Luckily, after spending so much time with Thatch, he'd learned to stretch his patience past its limits. He probably had a few more hours yet before he started to crack. But he didn't exactly find the bloodcurdling screams coming from outside appealing and he wished that the Revolutionaries would get the entire situation over and done with already. He'd seen them come in on their seemingly normal ships. He probably wouldn't have suspected a thing normally, but Whitebeard knew of the Revolutionaries, as did Marco and Thatch, and they had taught Ace about them.

They taught him to be wary but respectful of the Revolutionaries. Pirates and Revolutionaries didn't necessarily get along, but Whitebeard didn't seem to think that unnecessary conflict would benefit either side. Therefore, they ran like two separate rivers, coming from the same source but leading to different destinations.

Ace wasn't surprised that the kingdom was experiencing a revolution. The entire power structure was crap; the people clearly weren't happy and Ace had seen the beginnings of a complete military dictatorship in the making. At least that had been nipped in the bud; he hated seeing oppression like that. After the Goa Kingdom, he couldn't help the desire to punch any high-and-mighty person he saw, though that impulse was under much better control now.

He sighed, finishing the last of the meal on his plate. For the first time in a while, he felt full. Seeing the watchful eye of the owner, Ace began to reach into his backpack, knowing that a dine-and-dash was impossible with the riots going on outside. Much to the pirate's satisfaction, however, the owner waved him off, smiling insincerely. Despite the owner's expression, Ace accepted the free meal.

He was sleeping before he realized that his head had hit the table.

* * *

 **Things Thought Lost**

* * *

When Ace woke up, the first thing he noticed was that it was quiet. There were no screams puncturing the air, no ring of weapons clashing against weapons, and no report of gunfire in the distance. It was . . . nice.

He noted that the restaurant seemed empty. The patrons and owner were nowhere in sight; presumably they were wherever everyone else was, which meant that they were either being executed by the old government or celebrating the new one. Ace found the latter possibility to be the most likely one.

The second division commander yawned and stretched, lazily setting his hat back on his head and adjusting it accordingly. He felt refreshed after the food and nap, and the owner had already set supplies aside for Ace earlier. All in all, things were looking up. All he had to do was load the supplies onto Striker, and he would be good to go.

If Striker was damaged, though . . .

Ace burned at the thought and vowed that if that were the case, he'd track down the culprit and burn the damage into his memory as painfully as possible. No one touched his boat. _No one_.

Once the anger rolled away, Ace stood up, stretched, and yawned again, displaying all the casual grace of a cat. Noting that no one seemed to be in the restaurant, Ace decided to take his leave. He reached for the first of the supply boxes, figuring that he could easily stack the rest on top and carry them all in one trip, only to freeze when he sensed a single presence approaching the restaurant.

Whoever it belonged to was powerful. Not as powerful as Ace, but very, very close. So close that Ace felt his fire rising to the surface automatically. The person didn't _seem_ to be a threat, but the commander couldn't be sure. So he casually stepped away from his supplies and leaned against the wall to the right of the door, trusting the shadows to keep him out of immediate sight. He wanted to get a good look at whoever this guy was before he did the same to Ace.

The sound of footsteps reached Ace's ears but he didn't tense. He regulated his breathing, smoothed out his expression, and watched as the door to the restaurant slowly creaked open. Muted light flooded in from outside; Ace watched the silhouetted figure carefully, taking in details as he saw them.

The person was tall. Taller than him, and by a large margin. No, never mind, his silhouette wasn't completely accurate; there was something altering his height, but now that Ace was looking he could distinguish the shape and he determined that the person was still taller than him.

He wore some kind of hat on his head—a top hat, if Ace had to guess—with something balanced on the rim. He wore a long type of coat, loose pants that tucked into a pair of boots, and something frilly on his collar.

Something about the hat tickled Ace's memory but he brushed it aside, his curiosity piqued by the stranger who was wandering into a seemingly empty shop alone.

The man—Ace saw he was a man as soon as he took another step into the room, allowing Ace to see him more clearly—looked around, his eyes partially shaded by the brim of his hat. Ace, for some reason, wasn't surprised in the slightest when the man's eyes found him leaning against the wall and stayed on him.

"And just who might you be?" Ace drawled, pushing off the wall, standing straight, and taking on a slightly more respectful posture and tone. Old habits never really faded. "I haven't seen you around here before." _Who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing in here?_

The man offered a genteel smile. There was really no other way to describe it; his lips curved and his white teeth shone, but there was nothing patronizing about the look. It was honest, if a bit unusual. Ace hadn't seen a smile even remotely like that except on nobles' faces, and then it was usually insincere and dripping with mockery and disdain so intense you could scoop it out of the air with a spoon.

"Ah, I don't mean to be rude," the man said, taking another step into the room and gently closing the door. "Sorry. It's been a while; I wasn't sure how this meeting would go. I've been searching for such a long time—you never stayed in one place very long, you see, and that made it difficult to find you, so I apologize."

Ace got a distinct feeling of _wrongness_ in his gut. He listened to it and his respectful posture became dangerous. Not too much so, but enough to be noticed. The man immediately put up his hands, affecting a sheepish attitude.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just—it's been . . . I haven't seen you in so long."

"You must have me mistaken for someone else," Ace said, his lips pulling down into a frown. "I've never met you before."

The man stiffened slightly, and then slumped. "No, I don't suppose you would have," he said quietly. "It's been so long, and even I forgot . . ." Reaching up, the man slowly removed his top hat. Ace's attention was automatically drawn to the hat, and he felt his blood turn to ice when he saw that the thing wrapped around the brim was a pair of goggles. A very familiar pair of goggles. And the top hat looked familiar, too.

His stomach twisted. _No._

The man pressed the hat to his chest, his expression one of the utmost sincerity. Ace saw the blond hair, the scar running down the left side of his face, the pipe slung across his back, the noble-yet-not-noble clothing and the confident posture. He saw it all.

But most of all, Ace saw the man's eyes. They were meeting his intently, and they were full of sorrow and regret and a hundred other emotions Ace couldn't identify.

The commander's mind was whirling, confusion and anger mixing until a slow, boiling fury rose of in Ace's core. Whoever this man was, he was stepping into dangerous territory. Very, _very_ dangerous territory. Ace didn't give a damn how strong he was; no one messed with his brothers, whether they were alive or dead.

"Ace, I'm sorry I never contacted you," the man said, and Ace wanted to snarl and hiss and spit at his words, but he held it in, burning the words inside himself as fuel for his rage. "I was hurt badly, and when I recovered I was buried in work and—it sounds dumb, I know—I lost my memory." His expression took on a shadowed cast, and there was definite regret in his voice. "I have no real excuse. I should have remembered, but I didn't. I was stupid. For that, I apologize."

Ace's hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Heat rolled off him in waves, but the man standing a few yards away hadn't yet felt it. He was far too occupied with toying with his hat. _Sabo_ 's hat.

The man looked up and smiled. "It's me, Ace. Sabo."

Ace's mind screeched to a halt, and then accelerated with all the force the anger controlling it could provide.

Ace had a hand around the man's throat so quickly that the man had no time to react. Ace slammed him against the nearest convenient wall, not even feeling the strain of keeping the man in the air. His orange hat shadowed his eyes, but he was breathing hard—though it wasn't because of exertion. His grip trembled and it was clear that he desperately wanted to crush the man's windpipe but couldn't quite do it.

"Tell me one thing before I burn you to ashes," Ace snarled. His mouth was twisted into a thunderous, rage-filled scowl, so dark it was enough to make even the strange man hesitate. "Why the hell are you claiming my dead brother's name?" The man tried to respond, but Ace's eyes flashed and he tightened his grip, cutting off the man's air. " _Don't lie to me_!" Ace hissed, and his voice was like ice, like a dagger held to the man's throat, like a promise of the hell that awaited the man if he gave the wrong answer.

The man gasped when Ace loosened his grip enough to let him speak. "Not . . . dead," he wheezed, his eyes desperately trying to meet Ace's, to make him _understand_. But Ace would not meet his gaze, and the pirate's expression became even darker, his posture even more dangerous. Realizing he was running out of time, the man spoke again, his words painful and barely squeezing through his constricted windpipe. "We . . . swore . . . brotherhood," he managed. "I . . . would never . . . lie . . . to you, Ace." He swallowed, and it looked painful. "Not . . . over this. Never . . . over this."

Then, even more quietly, "I'm sorry."

The words had been said before, but now they were different. They echoed, bouncing around the empty room like a fading shout, except they were barely loud enough to hear. They brushed against Ace's sharp words and softened them, pushing them away and melting the tension in the room.

Ace's arm was trembling. Slowly, the Whitebeard Pirate set the man—Sabo—down, every motion almost painfully deliberate. When Ace spoke, his voice contained even more raw fury than it had before. Sabo nearly took a step back from it, completely unsure of how he was supposed to deal with the situation.

"You _bastard_."

Ace punched Sabo. It wasn't a soft punch. It wasn't a nice punch. It was a punch full of years of grief, years of mourning, years of sorrow and regret and painful questions with painful answers or no answers at all. It was a punch full of rage, of anger, of frustration, of helplessness.

It sent Sabo sprawling. He lay on the floor, holding his jaw and staring at Ace with undisguised shock. The taller man was still shaking, his hands still curled into fists.

"You bastard," he repeated. "You thrice-damned bastard." There was an odd tone to his voice, one that Sabo had never heard before. "You complete, utter jackass. You piece of shit. You—" and Ace broke off, turning away from Sabo and bringing one hand up to his face, and Sabo finally realized that Ace was crying. He got up slowly, gently prodding at the sensitive part of his face and concluding that there would be some serious swelling and bruising later.

"Ace . . .?" He tried.

"I thought you were dead," Ace said, and his voice was a terrible thing. It was broken, hitching on every word and catching on each syllable. "I thought you weren't coming back. I thought—I thought, 'what if I saved you'? 'What if I didn't let you go'? 'What I didn't let those assholes do what they pleased with my _brother_ '?"

"Ace," Sabo said again, reaching out to his brother only to drop his hand. This was a pain that _he_ had caused. He hadn't realized just how deeply his "death" had affected the other boy. He thought that Ace would handle it as he did everything else.

He was stupid.

"It was my fault!" Ace growled, bringing both hands up to rub at his face. He knocked his hat off his head in the process and it hung across his back, revealing his messy black hair and bringing light to the tears that streaked down his face. "I could've saved you, but I was too reckless and—"

"It wasn't your fault."

"It was!" Ace turned to face Sabo, and there was a fierce expression on his face, so full of self-loathing that Sabo actually took a half step back before he quite realized what he was doing. Ace didn't seem to notice. "Sabo, I could've done a thousand things to change what happened that day, and I spend almost every day thinking about ways I could've saved you!"

"I'm here now," Sabo said gently, but firmly.

Ace shook his head, angrily shoving his hair out of his face. "That's not the point!"

"Yes, it is!" Sabo growled back. "Luffy said you guys promised to live a life of no regrets, right? So stop regretting!"

"It's not that—"

"Yes, it is!" Sabo repeated, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Good lord, you're as stubborn as you've always been! How anything gets through that thick skull of yours is beyond me!"

"Shut up! Like you're any better!"

"Oh yeah? Luffy always liked me better!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!

"Did too!"

They scowled at each other and then Ace suddenly dragged his brother into a hug so tight it crushed the air out of Sabo's lungs. The pirate's shoulders were shaking, but when Sabo looked Ace was smiling, his eyes closed while tears leaked out.

"I'm happy you're alive," Ace said, clutching Sabo like a lost child. "I—I'm so damned happy. Fucking idiot; don't ever disappear again."

Sabo awkwardly returned the hug, trying to ignore the way his lungs were aching. After a moment, it became far more natural, and he held his brother as sobs filled the room.

"I'm sorry, Ace. I'll never do that again, I promise."

"You'd better not, you idiot."

They broke apart and abruptly looked away from each other, suddenly uncomfortable. Ace quickly wiped the tears off his face and began pulling himself together. Sabo looked uncertain, whereas Ace looked conflicted.

"I still want to punch you," Ace admitted, not looking at Sabo. Instead, he fiddled with the red and white bracelet on his wrist. "A hundred more times. A thousand."

"I can understand why, but please don't. I like my face."

Ace let out a laugh. It was hollow, it was bitter, it was a shadow of what it usually was, but it was a laugh. "I guess you would. So Luffy . . . he knows about all this?"

Sabo nodded, and then realized that Ace couldn't see that. "Yes, he does. I met him in Dressrosa."

"Dressrosa?" Ace repeated, frowning. "That's—"

"The Doflamingo incident, yes."

"Luffy got hurt."

"I made sure he survived."

Ace turned to look at Sabo, and most of the anger had left his expression. It now flickered in his eyes, a warm bed of coals as opposed to the roaring flame it had been minutes before. "I would've done a better job."

Sabo snorted rather inelegantly, given his attire. "Oh, really? I think I did a pretty good job. Not all of us have the Mera Mera no Mi, you know."

"Jealous?" Ace asked, holding up a hand and turning his fingers to flame. Sabo rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. If you don't mind my asking, why were you here? This island is pretty far out of the way of any routes I can think of."

Ace rubbed the back of his head, almost sheepish. "I got my supplies stolen and had to stop for a refill. This was the first island I cam across."

"Hm." Sabo fidgeted. "Ace . . . there's something I need to tell you."

"Eh? What is it?"

"I . . . when my ship got attacked by that Celestial Dragon, I was rescued by the Revolutionaries."

Ace blinked. Sabo fidgeted even more at his lack of reaction.

"They . . . helped me, even though I'd lost my memory. That's why . . . that's why I haven't tried to contact you guys for so long. I only remembered when I saw that article about you being presumed dead, and I—"

Ace smacked Sabo upside the head, frowning. "Idiot. You think I would die that easily?"

"Well, no, but—"

Ace smacked him again. "Idiot."

"Stop hitting me! It hurts!"

"Stop being stupid!" Ace glared at Sabo—without any real bite to it—for another minute before he sighed. "First of all, losing your memory wasn't your fault, though next time you run off like that without warning me, I'm going to drag you back whether you like it or not. Second, I'm not going to hold a grudge over something that stupid. And third, why do you still have a napkin around your neck?"

"It's a cravat!"

Ace smirked. "Whatever you say, Sabo." He then waved a hand, as though dismissing the serious mood. "I'm getting bored here."

Sabo made a considering noise, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was an older clock, not entirely accurate, but Sabo didn't seem to care. He had a slight smile on his face, and though he never said it aloud, he was clearly grateful that Ace wasn't making a big deal out of Sabo's amnesia. "I've got time to kill."

Ace raised an eyebrow, glancing at the clock as well even though he wasn't on any sort of time schedule. "What're the odds? So do I."

"There are some rather rowdy palace guards out there that don't realize there's been a revolution," Sabo said, his tone casual enough for his words to pass as regular conversation.

"That seems rather stupid of them," Ace commented. He sounded as though he was commenting on the weather.

"Indeed," Sabo agreed pleasantly. They exchanged a look that would have sent lesser men scrambling away in fear. "I suggest we take a nice walk."

"It should be scenic," Ace mused. "I'm thinking lots of detours. I've never been here before; I hear it's . . . exciting." His teeth glinted like fangs in the light. Sabo mirrored the expression.

"I've heard the same thing. It shall be an adventure."

And an adventure it was.

* * *

 **End**

* * *

 _A/N:_ _Okay, done! For those of you wondering how this fits into the timeline, in the canon universe it would be slightly after Dressrosa._

 _First things first, reviews:_

 _9momentos: Ye of little faith. I couldn't kill Ace even if I wanted to; he's too precious._

 _Pachimew: Unfortunately, you won't get to see all of them reunited in this story, but rest assured that they would be at some point in the future._

 _frappyrouge123: Sabo was the one screaming in the end of last chapter; that was him finding out about Ace's "death"._

 _Guest: Unfortunately, no Whitebeard. Sabo makes a poor substitute._

 _Kitsune Foxfire: Well, yeah. That's the treatment you get for writing awesome stories._

 _N Harmonic: Yes, that was Sabo at the end of the last chapter, and I believe the rest of your questions were answered in this chapter._

 _darkfalkon: I didn't talk about it much in this chapter (or at all, now that I look at it), but Ace was protecting his family when he fought Akainu. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone in his division getting hurt when Ace had said that he would distract Akainu, and so when the "blood rushed to his head", he did it for them._

 _CMBrockett: A bad ending? Man, I hope not. That would suck._

 _Trich: You're welcome._

 _terratree: They believed him alive, if only because they're family and because they have an inherent distrust in newspapers, so without a body they weren't going to believe anything. They're his family; if they lose faith, who's left?_

 _Moving on, thank you to all of my reviewers, especially those of you that reviewed multiple times. You're awesome. This story wouldn't be as good as it is without you guys. I also appreciate all of you who favorited/followed, and I hope you found this story worth it to the end!_

 _I don't know if I have further plans to write One Piece stories. I might, emphasis on_ might, _do a more in-depth story on the events in Marineford and Impel Down described briefly in this chapter, but that won't be for a while if I do it at all. There will probably be oneshots, though._

 _Until we meet again,_

 _-RoR_

 ** _Please review._**


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